


Through Love Comes Calm

by 49Times



Category: Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri (2017)
Genre: Boys In Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Feels, Homophobic Language, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-06-28 20:26:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15714477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/49Times/pseuds/49Times
Summary: In spite of the long years of antagonism between them, and all that's gone on since Mildred Hayes bought up those billboards outside Ebbing, a tentative friendship starts to grow between Red Welby and Jason Dixon.It's fragile. It's confusing. It doesn't make a lot of sense. But there it is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lukedan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lukedan/gifts).



> That hospital scene touched my heart, and I could not help wanting to see how things between these two might be able to play out. I desperately wanted fic for them, but couldn't find any (at least not in English *sob*) so I decided I had to write my own.

When Red first gets out of the hospital, he heads straight for the office. He’s driven by this confusing, insistent need to go back to the place where it happened, because it’s started getting surreal and fuzzy now, like something that happened to someone else, something out of a movie.

Except when he’s asleep. When the nightmares come, it feels real enough, even though in his dreams, the fall is slower and longer, something horrifying and endless that only stops when he fights through the fog and wakes himself up.

But during his waking hours he’s starting to let go of the intensity of feeling, the vividness of detail. So instead of going home, to sleep in a bed with soft sheets and a mattress that isn’t lumpy as hell, he goes to the office.

He expects to find it empty. A mess of smashed glass and blood. The only person who might have been inclined to do anything about it would be Pamela, and he knows she was scared shitless the day it happened too, and hurt as well. He’ll be lucky if she comes back to work for him at all after the whole fiasco.

Pam isn’t there, but it also isn’t empty.

His breath catches in his throat when, after a slow and painful climb to the top of the stairs, he sees Jason Dixon leaning over his window with a measuring tape in his hands. He doesn’t notice Red until steps on a creaking floorboard, and then his neck snaps straight up and he whips around to stare. The burns have his skin redder than normal, but Red’s pretty sure he can detect a separate and distinct flushing there too.

“Oh,” says Dixon. “You- you’re out. I didn’t know you’d be out yet.”

Red stares around in disbelief.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice quiet and a bit strangled though the answer seems clear enough. He can see a dustpan full of shattered glass in a corner, a wet spot on the carpet and a container of bleach.

“I- I was hopin’ to get it all done, before you got out. Not that I ain’t- it’s good you’re out. Anyway, I was just- just tryin’ to get the place fixed up for ya.” Dixon says it all while staring at a spot on the floor just in front of Red’s boots. He can’t look him in the eye. Red sees him swallow hard.

“Oh,” is all he can manage.

Dixon continues looking sheepish. “I measured it wrong the first time. Went too small. Whole pane of glass slipped out and shattered in the street. Have to start from scratch. Got another piece for the door downstairs. Think that one should be okay. I- I ain’t the best at this. But I’ll get it figured out one way or another.”

Red still can’t quite believe this is happening, but something ingrained in him makes him say “You don’t have to-” but Dixon cuts him right off, looking him right in the eyes for the first time today.

“Yes I do. It’s the very least I can fucking do,” he says, firm and adamant.

“Okay,” Red says. Because lord knows he’s not handy enough to figure this out himself and Dixon does have a point. “You need some help?”

Dixon chews his lip for a moment. “Not just yet. Maybe later, when I come back with more glass.”

“Okay,” Red says. “Guess I’ll...I got some stuff to catch up on here. Let me know if you need anything.”

Dixon nods.

There’s still this tension between them, that maybe won’t ever go away, but the sick twist of fate that left them in the same hospital room has maybe done something to make it different. He’d heard him cry more than once throughout the day he spent in that room with him, and Red wondered what all the tears were for. Pain, probably. Guilt- that seemed obvious enough. Loss, too.

He barely knows Dixon, but he knows enough to know how close he and Willoughby were. He’d seen them chuckling together in the diner often enough, or chatting amiably in a squad car. He knows Dixon didn’t have a dad for a long time, knows Willoughby filled the role some. Dixon tried to keep it down, but every once in a while a gasping sob would cut through the quiet, a sharp, jolting reminder that Dixon is human, underneath it all, and capable of feeling hurt and torn up and lost just like Red is.

Somehow, in spite of the fact that he’d suffered those burns, Dixon got out of the hospital earlier than Red did. Red had his back to Dixon and the doctor when they told him so, and refused to turn around, but he could feel the cop’s eyes on him, almost burning right through him. Was he thinking how fucked up it was- thinking about how badly he’d fucked Red up, if he was still stuck there after Dixon got out?

Maybe. Probably. The last thing he said before walking out of the room was a simple, quiet. “I’m sorry.”

And now here he is. Tying actions to his words. Red’s never been one for hate, but he’d certainly been full of anger before Dixon ended up in his hospital room. That made it harder to hold onto his anger, and Dixon here, now, embarrassed but determined was making it harder still.

Red goes into the room Pam usually uses to give himself some space to get caught up on work, but he’s angled so he can see Dixon if he glances up, and he finds that he does. He seems to have a can of paint and is repainting the window frame. Not wholly necessary, but it probably hasn’t been done since Red’s father opened the business over two decades ago.

Dixon comes and goes throughout the day, bringing up tools and supplies. Sometimes he hums as he works. Doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it, except for the one time he catches Red glancing over at him as he does it. He mumbles “sorry,” and closes his mouth tight, and Red has to struggle not to laugh.

He hears him struggling up the stairs with a pane of glass and calls out “You need a hand with that?”

“Nah,” huffs Dixon. “I’m- I’m fine. It’s fine. You just keep at whatever it is you were-”

But Red’s already there, taking the end of it and helping him bring it up the stairs.

“Thanks,” Dixon pants, looking relieved.

“You hungry?” Red asks.

“What?” Dixon responds, surprised.

“I just got a bunch of Chinese ordered. Think I went overboard on account of being so damn sick of hospital food. There's plenty to spare. Take a break. Eat,” he says, gesturing at the little white tubs on his desk.

Dixon glances at him, still clearly surprised, and says, “Oh. No. That’s alright. I’ll just- just keep working. Get this up. You already had a couple of birds trying to nest in here. Think maybe I should just-”

“You sure?” Red prods, opening a container and letting the smell waft towards him. “Got a feast here. Beef lo mein. Sweet and sour chicken. Fried dumplings. The works.”

Red can see the look of temptation on Dixon's face, and after eyeing the food for a few moments, he caves.

“Well. Alright. Guess I’m hungrier than I thought.”

They sit on the floor, their backs against Red’s desk, and start opening containers.

Red, ravenous for something that isn’t hospital food, is just about to dig in, when he notices Dixon rummaging through the paper bags in frustration.

“Uh. The bastards didn’t give us no forks. Can’t find no forks-”

Red smiles. “Yeah, I didn’t ask for any. Got some chopsticks right here though.” He holds out a pack to Dixon who makes a face.

“Chopsticks,” he mutters.

“You don’t know how to use chopsticks?” Red asks quietly.  
  
He sees Dixon bristle for a moment, clearly defensive, that typical angry, frustrated part of himself looking about to boil to the surface, and Red feels himself tense up. Maybe he even looks afraid, because Dixon’s features soften immediately and he shrugs. When he answers, it’s a quiet, almost shy, “Guess I never felt a need to learn.”

Relieved, Red smiles again. “Well, you got a need now. Here, let me show you.” He opens the packet for Dixon, holds them out to him. He takes them, hesitant.

Red picks up his own, and starts to demonstrate on some of the lo mein. “So you wanna get them to pinch about here. Hold this finger here. This one here. Pinch. Pick up. Devour food.”

Dixon can’t seem to get it, and flails about with trying to figure out holding his for long enough that Red reaches over and starts to help. For a moment, he feels Dixon freeze and go rigid when their hands touch, but it’s over as quick as it starts. He relaxes and allows Red to guide his grip.

“There you go. Like that. Now, give it a try.”

Dixon does. He manages to get a nice helping of lo mein in his chopsticks, but fumbles the grip halfway to his mouth and ends up dropping it all on his chest.

Red laughs, kind of loud. It’s quite the sight, a law man, trained in firearms and restraint and all sorts of shit, and he can’t even feed himself.

Dixon narrows his eyes, muttering “shut up” but he seems more amused than angry. He picks the noodles off his shirt with his hand and pops them into his mouth, looking defiant. Red laughs again.

Red makes him try it three more times before he finally relents, rummages in a drawer and finds a fork for him.

“Seriously? You had that shit the whole time and you still went and let me make an ass out of myself?” Dixon asks,

“Just trying to bring a little culture to your small town life,” Red smirks.

“Culture my ass,” Dixon huffs. “Looks more like vengeance to me.” He takes a large bite of food with his fork, for the first time today, not ending up with any on his shirt.

Red chuckles at that. “Maybe. Maybe a little.”

They eat in relative silence after that. It’s not like they have much in common. Red wouldn’t know the first thing about making small talk with a guy like Dixon. But it’s nice. Occasionally, they’ll make eye contact as they munch away at their food and he sees something like gratitude in Dixon’s expression. Gratitude and...calm. It’s unfamiliar. As long as he can remember, Dixon’s expression, at least when directed at Red, was full of nothing but contempt. Sneering. Judging. Deep dislike. Now it isn’t, and that’s strange. Good, but strange.

When they’ve cleaned out most of the containers, Dixon stretches and murmurs. “Thanks, Red. I- I’d better get back to it. Told Ma I’d be back around three. Think I can get that window in today. Might need to come back tomorrow to take care of the door.”

“Yeah,” Red says, getting to his feet as they start to pick up the mess. “Yeah, no problem.”

That’s about all they say to each other for the rest of the day, until it’s time for Dixon to head out. Then he comes by Dixon’s desk, tool box in hand and murmurs “Well, the windows in. Be back tomorrow to work on the door. Uh. Thanks for lunch. Night.”

“Night,” Red says, smiling a bit. Being polite is clearly new for the guy, and he’s as clumsy as a Great Dane puppy as he tries to figure it out. Never in a hundred thousand years would Red have guessed there might come a day where he’d find himself using the adjective ‘endearing’ to describe Jason Dixon, but there’s no denying that’s the one that comes to mind.

“Night, Jason,” he says, surprising them both. It just might be the first time he called him by his first name.

\--  
He does come back the next day, though since he’s downstairs working on the front door, Red doesn’t see much of him. He hears him humming though, and it’s kind of a nice change to the quiet.

Just as Red’s stomach starts rumbling and he thinks about microwaving some leftover Chinese, he hears Dixon’s footsteps on the stairs.

“Hey,” he says, reaching the top and stepping into Red’s office. “You hungry?”

“A bit,” Red starts, a little surprised. “I was just about-”

“Here-” Dixon says, practically shoving a tinfoil wrapped, sub-shaped item into his hand. “Hope you like chicken parm.”

Red wants to laugh again at how clumsy Dixon is at this whole trying-to-be-nice thing, but there’s an air of vulnerability to him that suggests to laugh might do him harm. Instead, he smiles and says “Hell yeah. Love it.”

“Good,” Dixon says, looking relieved. Then he cracks a grin, “Know what my favorite thing about a hero is?”  
“What’s that?” Red asks.

“No utensils. Wooden or otherwise.”

Red does laugh at that, then gets up and walks over to his mini-fridge. He’s aware that he still limps with every step, and wonders if Dixon notices too, and what he thinks about it. He stoops low and pulls out two beers. He hands one to Dixon, and they find their way back to their seats from yesterday. Side-by-side, backs against his desk, they eat and sip their beers. Comfortable. Calm.

When they’ve finished up, Dixon glances at him. “Just about finished with the door down there. There anything else you- you want help with round here before I head out?”

Red considers it for a moment- certainly there are a ton of repair type things that could be done- things his own dad never bothered to teach him to do because he always saw him as a soft disappointment- but even though the offer seems sincere, he can’t bring himself to say anything but, “Oh. No. I think- think it’s all good. Thanks for- fixing those up.”

“Oh. Okay. Yeah. No problem,” Dixon says. Maybe he’s imagining things, but that almost looks like disappointment on Dixon’s face. He blinks and it’s gone.

“Alright,” Dixon continues. “Guess I’ll just head out from down there. Put a new lock on it for you. Here’s the keys.”

He puts them in Red’s hand, and as he does, their fingers just barely brush. Their eyes meet and Dixon looks at him with a loaded expression Red can’t read. Like he wants to say more, but he can’t, or he doesn’t know how. It’s strange, after a long life of antagonism, conflict, dislike between them, but these past few days have been different and Red feels the same. He has things he wants to say, but he doesn’t quite know what they are, and there’s this knowledge that once Dixon heads out there door, they probably won’t have much opportunity to say them again.

The silence between them goes on too long, long enough to hit peak discomfort. Dixon shakes his head, breaks eye contact.

“Well. See ya ‘round,” Dixon mutters and turns away swiftly, heading out the door and down the stairs.

“See ya,” Red mutters as he retreats, not even sure if Dixon can hear him from halfway down the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red and Jason run into each other at the bar. And for once, it's not indifferent at best, antagonistic at worst. 
> 
> It's...fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not sure how old the characters are actually supposed to be, but I looked up the actor's ages and there's quite an age gap between them. Their interactions in the movie made me think the gap is quite a bit smaller, and with Sam Rockwell looking fairly young and the character being pretty immature, I decided to write this with Jason only being a few years older.

 

For several weeks, they don’t see much of each other. A week or so after the front door is fixed, Red spots Dixon heading into the police station, which has been temporarily set up in an empty building on Main while they rebuild the old one. He sees him go back in the day after that too, in uniform. Seems as though somehow, he’s managed to get his job back. Which is kind of fucked up- though not entirely surprising in light of the general state of shit in America these days. It’s fucked up enough that maybe he might have even been inclined to do something about it, if he hadn’t spent a couple of strange and oddly cathartic days in Jason Dixon’s company after. A couple of days of mutual injuries and tears, of orange juice and Chinese food. A couple of days of cautiously revealed humanity and small but not insignificant reparations.

 

He could be mad about it, but that just seems exhausting.  

 

Life goes back to normal, more or less.

 

Red still walks with a limp, and his back aches and his arm’s still in a cast, and he has to go to physical therapy three times a week, but other than that...normal.

 

There’s this guy Red has been seeing for about a year, Alan. Last name unknown, because they met online. A lawyer about ten years older. He drives past Ebbing every two weeks on his way to St. Louis for work, and always stops in to spend a night with Red on the way. It’s not serious- hell, Red is 80 percent sure the guy is probably married with kids, though he’s chosen not to ask- but the pickings are slim in Ebbing and it’s something steady and predictable that staves off a bit of his loneliness.

 

Alan looks concerned and alarmed at the sight of his injuries, and though Red is tight with the details, he gives enough that Alan goes off on a rant about pressing charges, calling Dixon a prick and a pig and a bunch of other things.

 

Strangely enough, when Alan starts in on Dixon, Red feels this need to defend him rise up. He fights it down. He knows it would just sound crazy. Unhinged. Alan wouldn’t understand. Hell, most people wouldn’t understand. But just the other day, Red drove past Dixon taking a slow walk towards the cemetery with some fairly droopy looking white flowers clenched in his fist, and he _does_ understand. He knows enough to know what Dixon was feeling when he did it, and even if the limp and the ache make him wish like hell the man had been in therapy for the past ten years to deal with his shit...he does understand.

 

So for a few weeks, they don’t see much of each other. And then they do.

 

One night, in the bar, Red’s just wrapped up a game of pool with James when he steps out for a smoke. He gets out onto the porch and realizes there are three other occupants on it. Two of them are a couple furiously making out in the darkest corner. The other is Jason Dixon.

 

“Oh,” he says. “Hey.”

 

“Welby. Hey,” Dixon says, also surprised. Doesn’t make much sense for either of them to be surprised- only one bar worth going to in the whole damn town, after all, but this is the closest they’ve been to one another since they ate chicken parm heroes in Red’s office, and the awkward tension comes to life, fully fledged and entirely palpable.  

 

Red takes out his lighter and tries it a couple of times before accepting that it’s out of fluid. He glances over at Dixon, who’s standing there in a too-big, ill-fitting button-down over a stupid t-shirt, a lit cigarette in his mouth. “Shit,” Red murmurs, waggling his empty Bic before throwing it into a garbage can on the porch. “Empty. You got a light?”

 

“Sure,” Dixon says, reaching into his jeans pocket before stepping closer with his lighter held out. There’s a light breeze in the air, and storm clouds rolling in. Red sticks his cigarette in his mouth and Dixon cups his hand to protect the flame until it catches. They’ve probably stood smoking on this same porch together a dozen times over the years, but never once did they share a smoke. Most times, they’d have simply gone to opposite ends to ignore each other as blatantly as possible. If Dixon was particularly drunk, they might have had words. They’ve had their share of words over the years, mostly Dixon saying something unpleasant and Red saying something sarcastic back, usually trying to throw in some five syllable words to confuse him.  

 

“Thanks,” Red says. He doesn’t think that’s ever been one of the words exchanged out here. No, he knows it isn’t.  

 

Dixon takes a small step back, but doesn’t go far.

 

“No problem.” A beat. “How- how you been?”

 

Red shrugs. “Not bad. You? Saw you head into the station a couple of times this week. Looks like they let you back on the force?”

 

Dixon nods. “Yeah. Didn’t think there was a snowball’s chance in hell of that ever happening, but guess that Abercrombie’s more like Willoughby than I woulda thought. Looks like it’ll be a tight leash, but he’s givin’ me another shot.”

 

“Oh,” Red says.

 

“Don’t suppose that seems right to you,” Dixon murmurs, guilt written all over his features. “After what happened.”

 

Honestly speaking, it doesn’t really. But Red knows enough to know that other than being a deputy, Dixon doesn’t have much else going on in his life. People hit him with the mama’s boy jokes and jabs often, because it’s easy and because it’s true.

 

It’s a small town, rife with gossip, but Red hasn’t heard talk of Dixon seeing a girl in years. The job is his life. Crazy as it is, Red’s glad he’s got it and unable to imagine what things might be like for Dixon if he didn’t.

 

“Wouldn’t be the wildest pass a cop in a America ever got,” he shrugs, and gives Dixon a wry smile. “Think maybe you can work on being a bit less of a dick at it this time ‘round?”

 

Dixon meets the comment with an intense stare, before he swallows hard and nods. “I mean to try, anyway.”

 

“Good,” he says quietly. “That’s good.”

 

“You here by yourself?” Dixon asks, after a few beats of silence.

 

He’s a little taken aback by the question, but Red nods. He almost always does. He usually finds someone to talk to once he arrives, James, or these two girls he went to school with who he can usually relax around. They’re some of the only unmarried people his age in town, a little outside the box, and they’re drawn to each other because of that.

 

He doesn’t have _friends_ here exactly- at least not the kind he did for those three brief years in St. Louis when he went away to college and got to be around tolerable, tolerant people for the first time in his life- but he has acquaintances he can shoot the shit with, shoot pool with, when he’s not up for sitting in his apartment alone for another night.

 

“Pretty much, yeah,” he says.

 

Dixon glances at his cigarette, which is nearly out. “Would you- you wanna have a beer with me when you finish that up? On me.”

 

He looks nervous, almost fearful, like he’s bracing himself for a rejection he thinks must be coming. Red doesn’t quite get what’s going on here- whether it’s just Dixon still trying to work through his guilt or if Dixon is genuinely trying to... be friends or something, but either way, Red doesn’t quite have it in him to deal out the rejection Dixon clearly fears.

 

Even if he’d be well within his rights to tell him to fuck off.

 

“Sure,” he says, shaking the bottle in his hand a little, the small bit of liquid at the bottom sloshing about. “I’m just about in need of a refill.”

 

They head into the bar a few moments later, and Dixon throws down money for two more Millers, sliding his over when the bartender serves them up.

 

“Thanks,” Red murmurs again, and they take a sip in unison.

 

It’s quiet again, and Red feels his heart racing a little faster than usual as the awkwardness sets in. But they’ve both taken a seat on stools. They’ve committed. To whatever this is. Two people who’ve spent over three decades hating each other, and fewer than three days kinda-sorta-maybe not hating each other. It’s weird.

 

Dixon glances at the TV, which is set to ESPN. “You see the Cardinals game earlier? What a crock of shit. The whole season, really.”

 

Red shrugs, “Nah,” he murmurs. “I don’t really follow baseball.”

 

“Oh,” Dixon says. “Sorry. Yeah, I guess you guys aren’t really into-”

 

“I’m more of a hockey guy, personally,” Red says, cutting him off before Dixon can say something that’ll piss him off.

 

“Oh yeah?” Dixon asks, surprised. “The Blues?”

 

“I’m from Missouri, ain’t I?” Red says, playing up the accent a little.

 

Dixon smiles. “Cool. Cool. I mean, I only really get into it when they make it to the finals, but cool.”

 

There’s yet another pause. Red almost wants to laugh. It’s a hell of a situation. Dixon seems to have decided to try to initiate something friendly here. Only- what the hell do they have in common? Probably not a damn thing. He should probably chug this beer and make some excuse about needing to head home. They’ve broken bread together and they’ve nearly had a beer together. Surely once this is done, they can officially consider the past behind them, and settle into some kind of peaceful mutual indifference. Wouldn’t that make a lot more sense than trying to pretend-

 

“You did the signage for Mel Baybridge’s farm, didn’t you?” Dixon says, interrupting his thoughts.

 

“What? Oh, yeah. Yeah, it went up on Wednesday,” Red says. It was a big job, the first he did since getting out of the hospital.

 

“It looks good. Real good,” Dixon says. “Like that one with the corn and cows on it.”

 

“Thanks,” Red says, pleasantly surprised. That was his favorite one. “Painted those myself.”

 

“No shit,” Dixon says. “Didn’t know you could do that- I mean, obviously, you guys have been doing the lettering ‘round here for long as I can remember, but never seen actual paintings on any of your signs before.”

 

“Yeah, it’s not really...what the business does. But I guess Mel saw a piece I had on display at the county fair last year and asked about it specifically, and we got to talkin’ about options.”

 

“Huh,” Dixon says, clearly impressed. “A piece at the fair. So you’re like a real artist then?”

 

Red flushes, because he does not feel remotely like one, but it’s kinda nice to hear it anyway. “Nah. I mean. Not really. I was trying to be, I guess. That’s what I went to Webster for, for a bit. But yeah. Then dad got sick and I had to come back and...well. You know. Run things here.”

 

Dixon looks both sympathetic and at a loss for what to say to that. He takes a sip of beer, maybe to stall, and when he’s done he sets it down and says. “Well. Like I said. The sign looks real good. Maybe folk’ll see it and you’ll get to do more of it. Anyway, I’m sure the new signs will help Old Mel Baybridge out, and God knows the guy could use a win. Wasn’t exactly just ...cruising by the farm when I saw the signs, if you know what I mean,” Dixon says, giving him a pointed look.

 

Red raises his eyebrows. “You about to share some confidential police information about a resident of this town with me, Deputy Dixon?”

 

Dixon raises his eyebrows too. “I _was,”_ he shoots back. “But I guess if you wanna get all moral on me, I don’t have to.” He takes a sip of beer and shakes his head. “Your loss. It’s a hell of a story though.”

 

Damn. There’s a twinkle in his eye that makes Red think it’s probably pretty juicy. “No. I wasn’t...I was just- go ahead and tell me then, would you?”

 

“Will do. You’re gonna hear about it anyway, right. No secrets in this town,” Dixon smirks, and launches into a story about an incident out on Baybridge farm involving Mel’s two grown sons, an argument about the division of their father’s land, a weed whacker and a couple of missing toes that were consumed by one of the hogs before anyone could do anything about it.

 

“Shit,” Red says when he’s done, wiping at his eyes. “I shouldn’t laugh. That’s just so wild though-”

 

“Yeah you should,” Dixon grins back. “Russ Baybridge is a total prick. If I can admit that, I’m sure you can too.”

 

He’s right. Dixon was a few years older than Red in school, and while any interactions they ever had were unpleasant, Russ Baybridge was the same age as Red, and their shitty interactions were a lot more commonplace.

 

“You boys want another?” Darlene the bartender asks, coming by to collect their empties.

 

Dixon looks at him, almost a little shy. “Uh, what d’ya think?”  

 

“Why not?” Red answers, and throws some money on the counter.

 

The rest of the night is hit or miss, as far as smoothness of conversation goes. Sports come up again, but hockey’s really the only one Red gives a damn about, so that fails. Gossip can only get them so far, so they mutter about a couple of recent ridiculous incidents in town before moving on. They try to talk TV shows, and it takes them at least five before they finally get to one of mutual interest. Narcos. Red neglects to mention that a good 30% of appeal is Pedro Pascal and the times that he’s shirtless, but other than that, the discussion goes okay, and they get passionate enough in their respective opinions that it’s a little bit less awkward. A little less like two guys with a fucked up history. A little more like friends. The alcohol helps, probably. They each drink their fair share of it, and soon Red trashing the downward spiral the Walking Dead has taken while Dixon expresses his disagreement with no small amount of expletives. 

 

“Last call, boys,” Darlene says, and Red is genuinely shocked to look up and see the bar has mostly emptied out. He usually doesn’t stay this long. He’d been too caught up making fun of Jason Dixon for liking Daryl Dixon just because they shared a name (“ _Nah man, that’s not it_!” he’d insisted. “ _He’s cool. He’s just **cool**. Do you_ really _not think he’s cool_?”) to even notice.

 

“Shit, is it really?” Dixon mutters, glancing at his watch. It’s after one. Red wonders briefly if Dixon’s ‘mama’ will give him grief over it, but doesn’t voice that aloud. Dixon may have taken the Walking Dead related teasing pretty well, but that’d definitely be pushing it too far.

 

“So, you want a last one or what?” Darlene asks abruptly, as is her way.

 

Dixon shrugs, deferring to Red. “I’m already late. A last one for the road couldn’t hurt.”

 

“Sure,” Red says, and when she serves them up, they opt to take them out to the porch to drink.

 

They’re standing out there, leaning against the railings and drinking quietly to the sound of chirping crickets and calling frogs, when Dixon says, “You know, this was fun, man.”

 

“Yeah,” Red says, nodding. As drunk as he is, he's still not quite believing how fun it was.

 

“You’re pretty cool, man,” Dixon goes on. He’s definitely slurring a bit, and his eyes aren’t entirely focused. He’s also doing his usual drunk Dixon thing of disregarding personal space, only at least now there’s not the looming threat of violence behind it, and it’s just kind of funny. “I didn’t know you were cool. All these damn years, and I never knew you were cool.”

 

Red smirks. Clearly vocabulary has never been one of Jason Dixon’s strong suits, but the repetition is amusing. “I’m cool, am I? Like, Daryl Dixon cool?”

 

To his surprise, Dixon legit does a spit take at that, splattering beer on the wooden porch as he snorts. “Shit no, man,” he laughs, clapping Red on the back. “Not Daryl Dixon cool,” he says, shaking his head. “Nobody’s Daryl Dixon cool.” He looks Red over thoughtfully. “Pretty cool though.”

 

Red smiles. “Well. Better head on back. Have a good night, Jason.”

 

“You too, Red,” Dixon says, and they both take off walking in different directions.

 

By the time he hits the pillow, his head is pretty woozy. At least two rounds of shots made their way into that weird little drinking session. All Jason’s fault. Wait. Jason? No. Dixon. He still calls him Dixon, at least in his head. Should he- should he not? Maybe. It’s a weird thought, when that’s what he’s been for God knows how long.

 

But he’s also just had the most fun he’s had in- also God knows how long, tonight. In the company of Jason Dixon. So maybe he should just be Jason now. Maybe, if he was more sober and his head was less spinny, he might be able to think of an argument against that. But he’s not, and he can’t. So for tonight, at least, he falls asleep thinking about the start of his evening, and how never did guess it would lead to nine beers, two shots and a surprisingly enjoyable conversation with...his new friend Jason? 

 

“Fuckin’ weird,” he murmurs aloud, before he passes out hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH to all the lovely people who commented on the last chapter! It really means a lot in a tiny fandom such as this to know there are actual humans out there who are interested in reading these words. I am definitely going slow burn with this, because there's a lot of heavy crap between them, but I do want to see it through. 
> 
> Feel free to share thoughts/ideas/things you want to see. I have a vague outline of where I can see it going, but I'm also open to hearing more from you! 
> 
> <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The friendship deepens.

 

The third time he and Jason end up hanging out at the bar, Red fully comes to terms with the fact that they are actual friends.

 

It’s a bit of a strange thing to admit, even just to himself, but he can’t just ignore the fact that they have formed a bond. Jason Dixon seeks him out, whenever they’re there on the same night, and beer and darts and conversation and even laughter happens with increasing ease.

 

After that first night, in the sober light of day he decided to assume maybe it was a one off. A final burying of the hatchet to show they’d put the past behind them, before they’d return to their separate worlds and separate lives.

 

But three nights later, Jason comes over to him with a Miller, and that’s it. Whoever he was talking to before that, he can’t even remember. All he knows is that by the end of the night, he and Jason Dixon were still there again, shooting the shit about...whatever. When it happens again, that third time, Red gets that it’s now a routine. It’s a regular thing. Jason Dixon genuinely seems to want to be his friend.

 

Another thought comes at him with total clarity when Jason gets up for a piss, and Red’s sitting there with their half empty beers at a high table where they’re waiting for a chance to jump in at darts.

 

_He’s lonely._

It comes at him with a sharp pang, right in the chest.

 

Who does Jason have really? No one. No one comes to mind.

 

No girl, at least not in recent memory. There’s the other guys on the force, but Red’s got a feeling Willoughby was the only one who was ever really _there_ there for Jason in a beyond-work sense.

He’s obviously seen groups of officers come into the bar, and he’s seen Jason among them, but he always did seem to be on the periphery, on the outskirts. Like the kid brother who tags along with a bunch of older, cooler kids. Never quite part of the group. Never quite in on the jokes. More often than not, the butt of them, and not always quick enough to even get that.

 

With Willoughby gone, Jason doesn’t have anybody.

 

And the thing is, neither does Red.

 

Not really. There’s people who like him. People that he likes. He’s a nice, polite dude.

 

But there’s no one close. No one constant. And- it’s not like he and Jason are getting deep and sharing heavy talks and shit- it’s all shooting pool and playing darts and talking about zombie movies and crime shows and other random stuff- but it’s still becoming more real and more constant than any friendship he’s had since he had to drop out of college and move back here.

 

Normally, he comes to the bar, orders himself a beer or two and eventually gets chatting to someone or a group of people. It’s nice to have someone make a beeline for him for once, which is what Jason does on nights two and three. He comes right for him, and he looks happy. It’s still strange, but it’s nice.

 

And sometimes surprising. Like, for example. Jason is into classical music. Like opera and shit. An also Abba. And... a lot of things Red wouldn’t have expected ( _“Well what did you expect, then?”_ Jason had demanded when Red voiced his incredulity. “ _I dunno. Country shit, prob’ly. Toby Keith. Hank Williams Jr.. I dunno, hick stuff-”_ he’d admitted, half-grinning as Jason looked increasingly outraged. _“Jesus. That’s- fuck no. That’s- Red, you’re buyin’ the next round for that! Shit. Toby Fucking Keith.”)_

 

Red knows it’s weird, them hanging out like this, and he knows he’s not the only one to think so. He’s seen more than a few people giving them funny looks, though no one’s said anything yet, at least no to him.

 

He wonders if anyone’s said anything to Jason, and figures they must not have. If they had, Red’s not sure he could have handled it. He’s always been such a prick to Red that he’s never bothered to study him, but now that they’ve spent time together, he can see how much insecurity and vulnerability there is constantly crackling beneath the surface of all Jason is.

He’d probably stop talking to Red outright, if folk started giving him shit about drinking with the town fag.

 

That’s the one part of this newfound thing between them that’s not so great.

 

The being afraid to enjoy it part. Because the more he hangs out with him, the more endearing this person he once despised becomes. But Red’s not sure it can last, in a place like Ebbing. It’s a fragile thing and he’s aware that the slightest pressure from the outside could make it crumble to dust.

 

The fire, and losing Willoughby, and whatever strange happenings went on with Jason and Mildred Hayes do seem to have changed him, but it might not last.  He could very well decide one day that he’s paid his penance for throwing Red out of a fucking window and turn his back. Or someone could dig into him with a well-phrased barb, some ignorant assault on his masculinity that would cut deep enough for him to decide he can’t be seen talking to Red anymore.

 

And even though they’ve only had a couple of lunches and a few nights of drinking beers together, Red already knows it’ll hurt when that happens. He’s been out in Ebbing for years, and most of the heavy waves of homophobic shit have passed, but he still hears a shitty comment at least every couple of weeks, and gets looks more often than that.

 

He’s got enough walls up that it doesn’t hurt anymore, but he knows himself enough to know if Jason turned his back over something like that...it might- it might hurt.

 

 _No_ , Red thinks, shaking his head.

 

It’s not like that. If anyone’s getting attached here, it’s fucking Dixon. He’s the one who- who initiates everything. All of it. He seeks Red out. Except for that offer of orange juice that he made when he didn’t even know who was under the bandages, Red hasn’t initiated anything in this weird friendship. Coming to his office. Fixing things. Hanging with him at the bar. It’s- it’s all Jason.

 

For whatever reason, this complicated, vulnerable, emotionally stunted overgrown boy has decided to reach out, in his loneliness, for Red. He can’t quite wrap his head around it.  

 

Red always thought they were as different as two people in this town could possibly get; Red, a quiet, artsy gay guy from one of the more monied families in town, who liked to read and draw. Jason, a vulgar, ignorant cop who got held back at least twice in grade school, who was best known in high school for being the guy who accidentally shot a buddy in the ass with a pellet gun while they were out doing hick stuff on some country lane.

 

Yet here they are.

Neither of them quite has a place they fit in this town, yet somehow fate (and perhaps a strange degree of persistence on Jason’s part) seems to have decided to show them they’re more alike than they are different.

 

“You okay there, bud?” Jason asks when he gets back to the table with two fresh beers. Bud. Another weird thing. Friend nicknames. “Got a real thousand yard stare going on.”

 

“What? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just thinkin’ I guess,” Red says.

 

“No shit,” Jason smirks. “Couldn’t have thought a little harder about keepin’ an eye on the darts, could you? Looks like some assholes have gone and cut in ahead while you were off in lala land,” Jason says, sliding him a beer. Jason glances around at the dart board and sees he’s right.

 

“Damn. Sorry, man. I guess I was-” he starts, but freezes when Jason puts a light hand on his back.

 

“It’s all good. Just teasin’ ya, man,” Jason smiles, then glances around. “It’s getting a little rowdy in here anyway, don’t you think?”

 

He’s right. There is a large group of bikers in tonight, all of them from out of town and getting increasingly drunk. “You wanna get out of here?” Jason asks.

 

Even though his hand is no longer on Red’s back, his heart still gives a quick, temporary leap. “Watch some TV or something?” And then there it is- relief and a strong sense of _duh._ “I know you said you’ve given up on the Walking Dead, but I got some episodes from the latest season on iTunes. It’s good shit, man. You should give it a chance.”

 

Right. He wants to watch TV. _Of course he does._ That makes infinitely more sense than where his startled mind went.

 

It’s not like...any many has ever hit on Red in this shit town ever, but has hit up some of the larger towns nearby to check out their gay bars, and ‘ _you wanna get out of here?’_ has always meant something very different in his past experience. It’s not like he’s ever had an abundance of straight male friends to just...chill with.

 

Red lets out a short laugh of relief. Jason wants to watch TV. Well. It’s not a thing Red generally does with other people these days, but...why the hell not?

 

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

 

They take their beers with them, and wander down the quiet streets towards Jason’s. He’s definitely drunk. Jason even sings a little as they go, and Red’s surprised to hear he’s got a kinda nice voice.

They get to his place. It takes a while. He’s not exactly in the center of town. Red’s enjoying the walk with all it’s chirping cicadas doing backup for Jason’s singing, but he is vaguely aware he’s gonna have to find his way home at some point. The house is a little dumpy, and there front yard is pretty overgrown. It’s up a steep slope too, and Red has to put a hand on Jason’s back as they go up to steady him. He wonders how many times he’s made this walk up on his own, drunk as hell, and how many times he’s wounded himself in the process.

 

They get in and Jason fumbles with the lights. Once they’re on, Red instantly feels like he’s been transported four or five decades back in time. The decor is wildly different from the modern stylings of his own apartment.

 

“I gotta go get my computer,” Jason mutters, kicking off his shoes, half-tripping out of them. “Should be some beer in the fridge, if you wanna go grab us a couple.”

 

“Sure,” Red says, and heads in the direction Jason’s pointed. He shuffles into the kitchen, realizing as he goes that he just might be a bit tipsy too. He has to hold onto the side of the fridge as he looks through. It’s full of tons of tupperware, and he glances down towards the bottom in search of beer.

 

Just as he selects a couple of cans, he hears a raspy woman’s voice saying, “Hey baby, you’re home a little early. You want me to fix you a- oh. You ain’t my boy.”

 

Red stands up, flushing slightly as Jason’s mother comes out in a blue nightgown. “Uh, no ma’am,” he says. “I-”

 

She squints at him, then interrupts in that low and scratchy smoker's voice. “You’re Red Welby.”

 

“Yes ma’am. I- I don’t think we’ve ever met,” he says, feeling a bit flustered but extending a hand.

 

He hears fast footsteps and Jason comes around the corner quick. “Ma. You’re up. I didn’t think you’d- uh. We’re just gonna watch some TV.”

 

“This is Red Welby,” she rasps at Jason, a note of confusion in her voice.

 

“I- yeah, Mama. You get on to bed now. We just gonna watch some TV-”

 

He’s got a light hand on her shoulder, and tries to gently push her off out of the kitchen, but she ignores him, turning around to face Red again.

 

“You’re the one he threw out the window...”

 

“Fuckin’ Christ, Ma! Would you just get on to bed?” Jason shouts, obviously mortified.

 

“But you’re here to watch TV?” she presses on, directed at Red.

 

“Uh, yes ma’am,” Red says. “I guess so.”

 

“That’s pretty fuckin’ weird,” she says, shaking her head. Jason looks so damn horrified by the entire thing, and she’s so matter-of-fact about it that Red can’t help the small laugh that escapes.

 

“Yeah, ma’am. I suppose it is,” he says, giving Jason a small smile to try to ease his agony. It doesn’t seem to help.

 

“Mama, why the hell are you still up? Just go to bed, would you?” he practically pleads.

 

“Well, I was just coming to fix you a sandwich-”

 

“I don’t need a sandwich! If I need a sandwich, I can fix it myself!” he cries out, and Red has to fight to keep a straight face.

 

“That’s funny. I don’t normally get complaints outta you when I offer your drunk ass a nice roast bee-”

 

“Just get on to bed!” Jason yells, and physically puts a hand on each of her shoulders and marches her halfway to the door.

 

Red watches, holding the two beers in his hand, and does all he can to get his expression totally neutral before Jason turns back around.

 

“Sorry, man,” he mutters, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “That was- shit.”

 

“It’s fine,” Red says, giving him a soft smile. 

 

“God, that was so- ugh. Hell,” he mutters, not able to meet Red’s eyes. He steps forward and hands Jason a beer. When he takes it, Red touches him softly on the arm. “Don’t worry about it. It's fine. Funny, even. Come on, let’s go watch this show. Still think it’s gonna be a load of crap, but let’s see, yeah?”

 

Jason nods mutely and allows Red to give him a light shove towards the living room that gets him going. They settle on the couch and Jason sets his laptop up on the coffee table, still not looking at him.

 

“So- what’s the last one you’ve seen again?” Jason asks, and Red tells him.

 

They watch about five minutes, before Jason sits up quick and hits pause on it.

 

“Red,” he says, turning to face him, expression full of anguish.

 

“Uh, yeah?” Red asks, startled. He’d been fuzzily trying to pay attention, trying to remember what had been going on in the last episode he’d watched and piecing together what he was seeing.

 

“I gotta- I feel like I gotta say...somethin',’” he says, breathing kinda hard for someone who’s just been sitting on a couch. "For a while now, I been...I been wanting to say…”

 

Red gets what this is, sees Jason floundering and shakes his head. “Look man, it’s fine. Let’s just watch-”

 

“No,” Jason says firmly, still turned right to him, earnest and intense. “Red, I gotta... about the window. I gotta tell you how sorry I-”

 

“You already did, man,” Red says quickly. "You did." He’s not ready to do this. Red didn’t think they’d be doing this. Not now. Maybe not ever. He’s not sure he’s ready for it right now. He thought they were just gonna sit around and watch some attractive people killing zombies and living bleak post-apocalyptic lives that made their shitty mid-western life seem okay by comparison.

“At the hospital. You said sorry,” Red goes on. “And you fixed the window and the door and you-”

 

“Yeah, well what about this?” Jason says fiercely, waving a choppy hand towards Red’s body. His broken body. “Can’t fuckin’ fix that, can I? You were limpin’ the whole goddamn way over here and I- I _did_ that. Can't undo it. But Red, I wasn’t in my right mind. I can’t- I don’t even know how to begin to tell you what I was feelin’ at the time but it don't matter. I- I shouldn’t have done it. I wish like hell I could just- just go back to that moment and do it different, but-”

 

“Look, Jason,” Red interrupts, still not prepared for the heaviness of this, for the anguish he’s seeing on Jason’s features, for the discomfort that comes with just wanting to go back to feeling relaxed and happy with a person who threw you out a fucking window. “It’s- we’re past it, now. We don’t have to do this. We can just-”

 

“Willoughby was all I had,” Jason says, quietly interrupting. “Really. Besides my mama. These past- I dunno how many years. There aren’t a lot of people in this world who ever thought I was worth a damn. Just ma and him, when I really think about it. Willoughby, he took me under his wing, Red, after my daddy... after he got killed. And I knew he was dying, but I didn't know he'd die just then and I didn't think he'd die like that. Hit me hard and I had the wrong view of it. I needed someone to blame. I was just tore up, Red. But that don’t make it right. Nothin’ will ever make it right and- I’m just sorry, man.”

 

“I know,” Red says. There are tears in Jason’s eyes now, just like there were tears flowing that day in the hospital. Red hated those fucking tears back then, and how they tugged at his soft heart and made him sympathize with a man he wanted very much to view as a monster. He knows, now, that Jason isn’t a monster though, and he still hates seeing these genuine tears from a man who probably hasn’t shed very many in his life.

Awkwardly, Red pats his arm.

 

“Don’t fuckin’ do that!” Jason cries, so loudly that Red jumps back. Instinctively, Red's heart starts to pound. The flash of anger scares him. It does. It take him right back, to that day Jason stormed in and attacked him, before he could even wrap his head around anything, when he didn't even know Willoughby was dead and-

 

“Fuck,” Jason says, looking startled by Red's fear, burying his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, man. Didn't mean to yell. It's just... I don’t get it! How the fuck do you- how are you _nice_ to me? How are you nice to me, Red, after what I done to you?”

 

There it is. The burning question. The one he’s asked himself a few dozen times. The one he knows a bunch of others in their small, nosy town have been asking in whispers whenever they see them playing pool together and shooting the shit.

 

The one that’s apparently been plaguing Jason too.

 

“I don’t know,” Red says quietly. “I guess maybe I just- I understand. Willoughby was a good man. And I know- I know what he meant to you. That was clear to just about anybody.”

 

“He’d have fucking kicked my ass to oblivion over this,” Jason says quietly. “ Willoughby. I know it. He’s given me a lot of leeway over the years. Too much, probably. He wouldn’t have- he wouldn’t have stood for this. He mighta been done with me, after this.”

 

Red’s not entirely sure what to say about that. Instead he says, “I didn’t know about the cancer. I- I wouldn’t have posted those billboards if I’d known. I tried to take them down, after I figured it out, only- well someone who wasn’t even Mildred paid to keep ‘em up and there wasn't much I could-”

 

To his surprise, Jason lets out a sharp laugh. He gives him a questioning look, and Jason grins. “Yeah. Someone did. Fucking Willoughby.”

 

Red squints in confusion. “No- no, that’s not...Wasn't him. Money came in after he was already...after he-”

 

“Trust me,” Jason grins. “It was fuckin’ him. Mildred told me herself, and he told her. Did it mess with her I guess.” Then his expression darkens. “Which just goes to show how _fucking wrong_ I was for taking it out on you. I’m such a fucking- why the hell are you _here_ , Red? Why haven’t you told me to go fuck myself a thousand times? I don’t get it. I just don’t fuckin’ get it,” Jason says, his eyes shining.

 

He’s been gripping the can of beer in his hand so hard it’s gotten crushed and sharp. Red glances down and sees droplets of blood forming where the jagged aluminum is digging into Jason’s palm. He reaches out and gently pries Jason’s hand open. He takes the beer can out of his hand and places it aside, on the coffee table.

 

“I don’t know, man," he says softly. "I guess I know what you were thinking as you did it. Hell, I wondered myself, after I realized he was dead if maybe I didn’t...have some impact on him doing what he did. But I guess I just...I guess I really believe that you’re sorry. And I guess I believe holding on to anger- never seemed to do anyone any good,” Red shrugs.

 

It’s true.

Stewing in his anger and rage in the hospital didn’t make him feel any better. Cursing Jason Dixon, thinking about throwing him off the top of the goddamn Empire State Building didn’t make him feel any better. It just made him more aware of his aches and pains, made the anger turn to lead in his belly.

 

But giving Dixon a glass of orange juice, while he stewed in his own hurt and pain- that _did_ make him feel better. It did help. And laughing about zombie movies with him at the fucking bar did too. A buried hatchet felt a lot better than an open wound. 

 

“You sound just like him,” Jason mutters, giving him a hint of a smile. “He wrote me a letter, you know. Willoughby. Got it after he died. After I did what I did. That was his entire goddamn message. Don’t hold onto anger. Try- try calm, he said. Would have been nice if I got my hands on it a little bit fuckin’ earlier, of course,” he says, shaking his head sadly as he looks at Red.

 

“Well, it’s done, man,” Red shrugs. “Look, Jason. Watchin’ this shitty show with you is a lot easier and a lot more fun than being mad at you. So let’s just watch it, yeah?”

 

They look at each other for what feels like a long moment, but maybe it’s not. Either way, in Jason’s expression he sees gratitude and sorrow, warmth and regret, confusion and a whole lot of other things. For so much time, all he ever saw there was sneering dislike bordering on hate. The change in expression seems to change his whole face. 

 

“Yeah. Okay. But this show ain’t shitty," Jason says, shaking his head with a little smile. "You’ll see, man. You’ll see.”

 

He hits play, and the tension eases. They go through their first beers, and Jason grabs seconds. Eventually, Red glances over and sees Jason passed out sitting up, snoring, with his head tilted back and his mouth open.

 

Red smiles, and stops the show with a tap of the space bar.

The latest season is, as expected, pretty shitty, but watching it with Jason beside him, constantly turning around to excitedly say shit like “ _Did you see that?”_ when uh, obviously he did, or “ _fuckin’ cool, right?”_ even though it’s the same stuff that has been going on for what feels like 50 seasons, does make it a lot more enjoyable.

Once Jason and his childlike enthusiasm are asleep though, Red feels his inner critic will rear its ugly head pretty soon. Plus, there’s that long walk home.

 

He decides it’s time to go. He stands up and glances at Jason. There’s a blanket thrown across the back of the couch, and even though it’s summer, Red has a brief but strong urge to gently drape it over Jason before he goes. He doesn’t though. Instead, he just gives Jason a brief last look, smiles, cleans up their empty cans and heads out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying writing this and feeling all the feels for these beautiful complicated guys. It makes me so happy to know that other people are out there enjoying their journey too. 
> 
> There's definitely more to come and I'm more invested than ever, but I'm a teacher and starting work soon so it might be a little while before I get the next bits posted. Please feel free to share your thoughts in the mean time and hang tight for more of this slow crawl towards the inevitable...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red finds himself catching feelings he really shouldn't catch.

 

Soon, hanging out after the bar becomes part of their routine too. After that first time at Jason’s, Red offers up his place instead.

 

“I mean, we can go to yours if you want, of course," he says immediately after suggesting it. "If your ma needs you back or whatever. Just thought I’d offer though, since I live alo-”

 

“Yeah,” Jason says emphatically. “Let’s do that.” Clearly the memory of his mother barging in and bringing up the window thing is still much too vivid. 

 

So it becomes their thing. Drinks at the bar. Darts, pool. Then back to Red’s.

 

Often, they’re both tired from a long day, so they put on a show or a movie. Mostly mindless action stuff, things Jason insists on watching when we finds out Red’s never seen them. ( _Wait, you’ve never seen Lethal Weapon? None of ‘em?)_ Jason's enthusiasm for buddy cop dramas is infectious so Red tends to roll with it. The movies tend to be fun, and he can amuse himself by noticing all the homoerotic moments within a lot of these classics he’s never seen (but _not_ by wondering whether or not Jason Dixon is aware of it too, on any kind of level, because that’s stupid- he’s clearly responding to the guns and violence and explosions and not the emotional codependency of the leads).

 

One day, maybe, he’ll try and push for some movie suggestions of his own. Something artsy and subtle and just a little more high-brow. But they’re not there yet, and maybe won’t be ever, and that’s okay.

 

Sometimes they play cards, which Jason is annoyingly good at, or XBox, which he is hilariously _not_ good at.

His repeated and frequent deaths are always followed by an array of colorful curses that are almost lyrical. Red has to keep elbowing Jason through his own buzzed giggles, hissing at him to _shushhhh,_ because more often than not they’re playing after midnight and his walls are thin and he has neighbors.

 

He can’t help but notice that Jason never uses the word faggot as they play. Even though he’s called him one at least a hundred times to his face in the past, he never says it with a controller in his hand. Once or twice, Red catches him with a prolonged ‘ffffff’ sound on the tip of his tongue, but he always turns it into _ffffuucker,_ or _fffuckwad, or ffffucking piece of shit, shit-for-brains, mother-fucking assclown._ Red doesn't look over, just keeps his eyes on the screen, but sometimes after he thinks Jason glances his way. 

 

One of the first things Jason does when he enters Red’s apartment for the first time is to stumble over to the shelf where Red keeps a couple of his best paintings and start admiring them. It sends a rush of warmth straight through him that nestles somewhere deep in his belly.

 

“Which is the one you had up at the county fair?” Jason asks.

 

Red feels his face start to match his name, his cheeks fiery hot. “You remember me mentioning that?” he mutters, sheepish.

 

“Course,” Jason says, inspecting all the pieces, touching the bumpy oil paintings gently, nodding appreciatively. “Which one?”

 

Red points out an impressionist landscape he did, feeling oddly shy.

 

“Well, shit,” Jason says. “I’d hang that in my living room for sure. That’s damn good, Red. Damn good.”

 

Red can’t remember what Alan said the first time he came in here and looked at them. It was something intelligent, a specific and well-formed compliment that mentioned his composition and technique. He can’t remember what Alan said, but he knows it didn’t have him glowing quite like Jason’s simple but earnest  _I’d hang that in my living room for sure._

_\--_

 

It’s nice to have a routine. To have a genuine friend.

 

But increasingly, as they leave the bar together and start their walk to Red’s, the feeling of dread does loom over Red.

 

Surely, this time, someone’s gonna call them out. Some stupid hick who’s had too much to drink is gonna bump Jason’s shoulder with theirs as they walk out and mutter, “ _So you two are a pair of faggots now, are ya?”_ and Jason will either lose his shit, turn his back on this for good, or probably both.

 

After the first few nights of Jason coming by and stumbling out his door at two or three am, Red offers up his guest bedroom. After a moment of hesitation, he agrees, and Red guides him there. _Damn,_ Jason says after flinging himself down on it. _What kinda guests you got stayin’ here, Welby? Got a comfy ass mattress here. Fit for a king._

 

The next morning feels a little strange at first, with both of them sober, waking up not-quite _together_ , but more way more together than he’s used to.

 

Usually when Alan stays over, they share a bed, but he also jets out early in the morning, needing to get out on the road to complete his business trips. At best, he might stick around to chug down a cup of coffee. 

 

Jason doesn’t leave in a hurry though. He takes his time, thumbs through magazines on the kitchen table while Red makes eggs. When they're ready, Jason gobbles them down wolfishly and says they’re great, and pours salt on the table like a little kid at a diner and draws pictures in it until Red snatches it away and confiscates it.

 

He enjoys those quiet mornings, the feeling of warm domesticity they bring, but that fear does come back when Jason heads out. Who’s seen him leave? When will they say something? When will the outside world bust its way in and shatter this bubble?

 

\--

 

The first person to say something to him is Pamela.

 

She struts in and hands him a stack of paper. “These faxes came in from Stratton. Guess there’s a few businesses who ain’t happy with the prices your competitor over there has goin’ on. Seems they’re takin’ it elsewhere. Elsewhere bein' here.”

 

“Thanks,” he says, and takes them from her, preparing to start reading through them, but Pam is still there.

 

“There something else, Pam?” he asks politely, unaware of what's coming.

 

“Yeah. There’s something else,” she says, shaking her head as she looks down at him. “Did your brain get damaged when you got thrown out that goddamn window?”

 

“What?” he asks, because even though he heard her clearly, he’s a bit blindsided by the question.  “Pam, that’s not appr-”

 

“It has to have been, right? That’s three times now I seen you shooting pool with that motherfucker. Last night, you and that psychotic pig fuckin’ left together, or are my eyes broke?”

 

Red sighs heavily. It’s not like he hasn’t feared this coming, but being asked to explain himself still sucks.

 

“Look that whole...thing. It’s behind us, Pam. We’ve put it behind us, so just-”

 

“It’s fucked up, Red,” she says, her eyes wide, full of both judgment and concern. “Mr. Welby. Sir.”

 

“I understand why it seems that way,” he says, as mildly as he can manage. “And I appreciate your concern, Pamela, but-”

 

“It’s like some kinda fuckin'….Stockholm Syndrome shit!” Pamela insists, still disgusted. Red raises his eyebrows.  

 

“Pamela, as far as I know, Jason Dixon has at no point in his life kept me captive.”

 

“That’s- _what?”_ she asks, furrowing her brow in confusion.

 

“Stockholm Syndrome. Falling for your captor? Getting sucked in by someone who's held you captive? That’s what it means, Pam.”

 

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Whatever. You know I dropped that psych course about two weeks in. The point is, this is gross. And fucked up. And you’re a good boss and a good person and Jason Dixon is a piece of shit. You should have fuckin’ sued him for every last penny he’s worth, even though that’s probably about ten. You-”

 

“Pam,” he says, voice sharp and firm. “Enough. You’ve said your piece, but you're overstepping.”

 

“Red, I just mean- I know...I know there’s not a lot of options for- for your type around here, and I know that’s gotta be lonely, but this ain’t right. After what he’s done to-”

 

“Pam. You’ve got work to do. Go do it,” he says, trying to keep his tone neutral, though there's a sting to her voicing aloud that he comes across as lonely. She's not wrong. If he didn't have so few friends around here he could count 'em on one hand, maybe he and Jason would have never gotten nearly this far. If he had enough people close by who truly gave a fuck, they would have stepped in sooner. Kinda sad that his secretary is the first one to even say anything about it. 

 

She gives him a long, hard look before silently leaving.

 

He tries fruitlessly to focus in on the stacks of paper she handed him- the whole billboard thing definitely made him lose a bit of business in Ebbing and he could use some new clients, but he can’t concentrate. Eventually he shoves the papers into a shoulder bag, tells Pam he’s taking the afternoon off, asks her to close up and leaves without waiting for an answer.

 

The outside world, busting its way in. 

\---

 

One night they’re sitting side-by-side at the bar, and he notices Jason seems low. None of the usual topics seem to be able to get him going. He can read him fairly well now, and something’s clearly wrong, so Red comes out and asks him.

 

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says, just loud enough for Jason to hear him over the low chatter. It’s only around eight and not too crowded just yet.  “Everything okay?”

 

Jason looks at him. “Yeah, it’s- it’s fine. It’s just- it’s been three months today. Since Willoughby- since he did what he did.”

 

“Oh,” Red says. Has it really been that long? Or that short? These past months, time has felt like a strange thing. “Damn.”

 

“Sometimes it’s there in my head, plain and clear. I go through a whole day with it hanging over me like a cloud. He’s gone. But sometimes it still feels as surreal as it did those first moments I found out. I'll forget, and see something dumb I wanna tell him about, and then I remember I can't.”

 

“I’m sorry, man,” Red says, sincere but awkward, not quite sure what else he can say.

 

“Went down to the gravesite today. Ran into Anne there,” Jason mutters.

 

Another awkward moment that leaves Red feeling like he’s treading water. He didn’t know Anne, except by sight. He barely even knew Willoughby.

 

“How’s she holding up?” he asks.

 

Jason shrugs. “As well as can be expected, I guess. I know she don’t think much of me. Never has. Prob’ly only even gives me the time of day on account of Willoughby. Anyway, I...they got this cabin. Little fishing cabin by the lake. I went up there now and then with Willoughby. I asked her if she’s been up since he...since he died, and she said she hasn’t been able to bring herself to make the trip. So I, uh, offered to head up there. Check on the place. Do some upkeep.”

 

Red gives him an encouraging smile, “That’s good of you. I’m sure that’ll be a big help.”

 

Jason fiddles with a napkin. His eye contact has been fairly limited all night. He talks low enough that Red has to lean over a bit in his stool to hear better.

“I thought about- about asking if I could take the girls up. They- they love it up there. Came up with me and Willoughby sometimes. Thought they might like to go and think about their dad some, even if Anne’s not ready but- I thought better of it. No way she’d trust me with ‘em.”

 

Red gives a small shrug, “Maybe not,” he admits. “It’s a nice thought though. I’m sure Willoughby’d really appreciate you lookin’ out for them all, either way.”

 

Jason nods mutely. “So yeah, I guess I’ll just...head up this weekend. Do a little work on the place. Some fishing.” He’s folded the napkin about as small as it can possible go, and now he has it clenched tight in his fist. “You ever do any fishing?”

 

Red’s mildly surprised by the question. “Oh. I mean, a long time ago. When I was a kid. A couple of times. Not in years though.” He doesn’t add that he hated hooking the worms, or how weak he felt when his dad would roll his eyes and snatch them out of his trembling hands and do it for him. Or that he cried the first time he saw one die.

 

“Oh,” Jason says, shoulders hunching slightly. He’s looking down the neck of his beer, and even though it was only a syllable, Red felt like maybe there was some disappointment in it.

 

“But I’ll come along,” Red adds quickly and quietly. “If you...feel like you could use some company.”

 

Jason whips around so quick to look at him Red thinks he might have pulled a muscle in his neck. “Really?” he asks. “I mean, don’t- you don’t gotta feel like you have to or nothin’ if you’re busy or- or it’s not your thing-”

 

“I’ll come,” Red says, putting a light hand on his shoulder. He leaves it there just long enough for Jason to look him the eye and see that he means it, then lets it drop.

 

“Thanks, man. It’s a real nice little getaway. I can swing by for you ‘round six on Friday, if that works. It'll be nearly dark when we get up there, but it'll give us most of the weekend.”

 

“Sounds good,” Red says, and they clink beers.

 

\--

 

And it is good. It’s been years since Red’s done any kind of connecting with nature, and most of his memories of trying to do so involve feeling inadequate among a father and uncles and cousins who were way more cut out for it than he ever was.

 

But it’s good, every step of the way, because of Jason.

 

Red keeps catching him singing along to the radio as they drive. Jason seems barely aware that he’s doing it, except Red keeps glancing over and grinning as Jason croons. When he notices, he looks sheepish and mutters, “Sorry.”

 

Red insists that it’s alright, that Jason shouldn’t stop on account of him. What he doesn’t add is that he likes the low, soothing sound of Jason’s voice. That it’s rich and smooth like honey, and Red would prefer if he kept singing all the way there. That he can't stop imagining drifting off to the sound of that voice.

 

They arrive late and they’re tired, but it’s a nice mild night. They sit outside and Jason gets a fire going. They drink a few beers, and at one point Jason comes out and hands him a hot dog on a stick. For the first time in his adult life since being confronted with a hot dog, he doesn’t think about the undoubtedly gross process that created it or the total lack of nutrition within the leathery casing. He just holds it over the fire ‘til it’s perfect and eats it to the sounds of chirping insects and singing frogs.

You can usually see a good few stars in town, but it's nothing like this. Red watches them and feels small, but in a good way. 

Eventually, they let the fire die down, and it starts to get chilly enough that they head in. Jason directs him to a bed he can crash in, and even though it’s lumpy as hell and the rough sheets don’t feel anything like his Egyptian cotton ones at home, Red has the best sleep he’s had in ages.

 

The next day is long and languid. It passes slowly, but it’s peaceful and nice. He wakes up when it’s still dark out to the sounds of Jason rapping at his door. He groans and rolls over, but that doesn’t deter him. After a few more knocks that go ignored, Jason lets himself in and shakes Red until he gives in.

 

“Come on, man. Let’s go get us some fish. Got coffee and eggs made. Probably not as good as yours, but still. Get ‘em while they’re hot.”

 

“Man, I don’t even really know how to fish,” Red groans, pulling a pillow over his head but it proves ineffective as Jason pulls it right off and chucks it on the floor.

 

“Well, I’ll teach you then, dumbass. Let’s go.”

 

So he does. The eggs are a little runny, and there are mosquitoes, which he hates, but the light on the lake at dawn is nothing short of breath-taking. He wishes he brought some paints with him. It’s the most inspired he’s felt in a long time.  
  
As Jason sets up their gear, Red watches a heron fishing among the reeds. He sees something brown and furry in the distance that's probably to small to be a beaver. He doesn't even know if there are beavers in Missouri. A muskrat, maybe? Is that a thing?  
  
Either way, with the birds starting to wake up and chatter and the soft rustle of leaves in the wind and with the caffeine starting to hit him, Red finds himself deeply happy Jason woke him so early. He likes the world in this light. 

 

Once they get started, Red's pleased to find he’s gotten as stronger stomach since age seven, and finds he can bait the hook without wanting to gag. Casting is a bit more of an issue though. He still sucks at that.

 

In the long stretch of time since they were enemies, and the shorter stretch of time since they’ve been friends, Jason Dixon has never been very observant of personal space. So it shouldn’t be surprising when he watches Red’s second shitty attempt at casting and decides to step in. To step behind him without saying anything, to start adjusting his arms and fiddling with the fishing rod.

 

It shouldn’t be surprising, and yet Red finds himself momentarily unable to breathe.

 

“Here,” Jason says at last. “You wanna do it more like this. This hand here. This one here,” Red can feel Jason’s breath against his ear, and with it comes a tingle.

 

 _Stop,_ he tells himself. _Breathe. Focus._

 

There’s no fucking sense in reacting like this. He shouldn’t be reacting like this. It’s just been a few weeks since Alan drove through, and he’s probably just- in need of a physical release. That’s the only reason he’s reacting to the proximity in such a pointless matter. 

 

“Okay,” Red nods at last, and allows Jason to help him with the cast. It goes out far. Not as far as the ones Jason’s done on his own, but much farther than the last one Red cast, which ended up in a fucking bush.

 

“Now you’re just gonna start reeling in nice and slow,” he says, his hand over Red’s, showing him the pace. His fucking breath still hitting hot against Red’s ear.

It's too much. He has to step away. “Thanks man,” he says, maybe too loudly, too cheerfully. “That helped a lot. Hopefully I’ve got it now.”  

 

He does, it seems, and Jason doesn’t have a need to get that close again. Red straddles the line between relieved and disappointed, but heart rate goes back to normal eventually. He does what he can to focus on the beauty of the morning, on the light on the lake, on the birds, on the deer that shows up to drink down the bank.

 

Jason catches about six fish before Red catches his first. Most of them are too small to keep and he tosses them back, but he puts a couple aside in a cooler.

 

When Red’s bobber finally goes down, he’s been so zoned out watching everything else that he doesn’t even notice.

 

“Yo!” Jason barks, coming over and punching him in the arm. “Look alive, Welby! You got a bite!” and Red manages to jerk up in time. It feels heavy. Last time that happened, it was a boot, which was super embarrassing and made Jason cackle hard, but this time he thinks it might actually be a living thing.

 

Jason clearly agrees, because he keeps ‘lightly’ punching his arm and muttering, “Come on man, bring him in, bring ‘im in. You got this son of a bitch.”

 

When he finally gets it out of the water, it’s huge. Red might know some birds, but he doesn’t know shit about fish. Still, he quickly finds out, as Jason shakes him excitedly by the shoulders, that it’s a rainbow trout.

 

“Fuckin’ a, boy! We gonna feast like kings tonight,” he says, clapping him on the back. Red can only laugh at the slightly painful congratulations.

 

When the sun is high enough in the sky that the fish aren’t really biting anymore, they pack up. Red expects them to head out right away, but then Jason tosses him a saran wrapped sandwich, and they sit side-by-side to eat them before they leave. A sleepy town like Ebbing is no Big Apple or anything, but the pace of a day here is infinitely slower. Red likes it.

 

Eventually, they head back to the cabin. Jason hooks Red up with a weed whacker and sets him to taking care of the vegetation around the house and shed, while he sits on a ride-on mower and spends a couple of hours mowing.

 

For dinner, they cook up their catch of the day. Or rather, Jason starts cooking up some fish and calls Red over.

 

“Here,” he says, holding out a fork with some fish he’s just pulled from the pan. “Try this.” Red’s eyes widen for a half a second when he sees Jason’s holding out the fork to _feed him,_ but reminds himself it doesn’t mean anything and just leans in to take a bite. “How is it?”

 

Red pauses. “It’s pretty good.”

 

Jason squints at him, “You’re a fuckin’ liar,” he says. Not mad, just direct.

 

“No, I mean, it’s- it is good. What’d you put on it?” he asks, somewhat weakly.

 

Jason shrugs. “Uh, salt and pepper.”

 

Red shakes his head and opens a cabinet. Anne’s clearly stocked the kitchen well and he can see a plethora of spices that’ll make it so much better. “Mind if I- try a couple of things?” he asks.

 

“Course not,” Jason laughs, slapping him on the back. “You’re a polite mother fucker, Welby, but I can read you like a fucking book now. Next time, you can just tell me it tastes like shit.”

 

He walks off laughing, and Red hears him turn on the shower. As he cooks up the rest of their fish with considerably more creativity that Jason, he finds himself hoping that reading him like a book comment is not entirely true. Because the pages are starting to say things now Red wishes they wouldn’t, things he hopes Jason never, ever figures out.

 

He’s dealt with the whole crush-on-a-straight-dude thing before. It’s never good. His first and worst was on his college roommate, Chris.  
  
It started off fun, because crushes are fun. There’s always that thrill and excitement of liking someone, of feeling attraction, of looking forward to those moments together. But after a point, the longing sets in. The ache. It gets harder to hide. It stops being fun, and starts to hurt. Starts to feel like drowning, even dying. And to be honest, for all the hours he wasted thinking and dreaming and pining, that college roommate barely gave him the time of day. 

 

_Don’t think about it. You’re not a kid anymore, Red. You can't get sucked into this pining for someone you can't ever have thing. This is the real fucking world. It's not sane or safe or smart to start down this road. Not with him. It is what it is, and it's no more than that. Never will be more than that._

 

He puts it out of his mind, and cooks up an amazing trout. He finds some potatoes in a bag Jason brought up, and cooks those too. Jason practically inhales them when they sit down to eat. “Fuck, Red. You’re doing all the cooking from now on. That’s it. That’s fuckin’ it,” he mutters between bites. Red feels a thrill of warmth at the compliment, and at the words _from now on._

 

That night, they do another fire. In a drawer in the cabin, Red finds some paper and colored pencils that must belong to Willoughby’s kids, and takes them outside. Jason grabs a guitar and a cooler full of beer. As Jason strums and sings along in his low deep croon, Red sketches out the scene of their morning from memory. A heron in the reeds, light playing on the water. Jason’s silhouette, standing in the lake up to his shins, fishing rod in hand.

 

At one point, Jason stands up to grab another beer and leans over Red’s shoulder to see what he’s drawing. Red flushes hard, and fights the urge to slam the book shut. His heart hammers in his chest, and he wishes he’d left a certain piece of the drawing out.

 

“Hey," he murmurs. "That’s real good, man,” Jason says, emphatic and earnest. Red swallows as Jason rests a light hand on his shoulder. “Think maybe when you’re done I might be able to hang onto that?”

 

God, there’s no ignoring the tug that question causes low in his belly. There’s no denying what it means, him reacting that way.

 

_He wants to keep it._

 

Throat feeling far too tight, Jason nods. “Sure. It’s all yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAH! All your lovely feedback is truly an infusion of cotton candy straight into my veins. Your responses have really made me so happy. I love this tiny little fandom so much. 
> 
> Hope you liked the latest!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shattering of the calm.

Red tries to tell himself that once they’re back from the lake, from that isolated little piece of the world where it was just the two of them, that things will go back to normal, but it’s not strictly true.  
Ninety percent of the time, yeah. Red can view this as it really is. A weird, somewhat nonsensical, but perfectly nice and satisfying friendship.

But sometimes, he just can’t keep the thoughts at bay. Can’t keep his body from reacting when Jason steps too close.

One time, Jason falls asleep in the middle of Die Hard with a Vengeance and his head lolls over onto Red’s shoulder. When it happens, Red jumps up so quick he startles Jason awake and sits up fast, rubbing at his eyes and muttering “Wheresafire?”

“Sorry,” Red mumbles, glad the lights are low enough Jason probably can’t make out his blush. “It’s late though. Gonna head to bed. You might wanna think about doing the same. You’re catching flies,” he says, forcing himself to grin and inclining his head towards Jason’s room. No. Towards the guest room.

It's kind of a problem, that he's thinking like this.

It’s just, this is the most consistent relationship of his fucking adult life. And other than James, which is a much more casual, chill-when-we-happen-to-be-in-the-same-place sort of thing, it’s the only real friendship he’s ever had with a straight man. He’s trying to keep the lines from blurring. Most of the time he succeeds. But sometimes he doesn’t. He hates when he doesn’t.

\--  
A little while after the cabin, Alan messages him on a Thursday and says he’ll be swinging through Ebbing on Saturday afternoon. Wonders if he can crash for the night. Red always says yes, but Alan always asks anyway.

This time, Red finds himself responding with more gusto than usual.

Yes, he thinks. This is what I need.

A good fuck, with a guy who’s attracted him. Who he is attracted to as well. That should help him get his head on straight, so to speak.

Alan’s a bit older, but he’s definitely good looking. A real silver fox. Thick salt and pepper hair, highly symmetrical features and a deep, smooth voice. Broad shoulders and a nice physique. Intelligent eyes and articulate speech. He’s kind and good in bed. They always have enough flow of conversation between fucking that it’s never awkward.

It’ll be nice to have that back, so he can remember what it’s like to want someone he can have.

He hears him pull up around three on that Saturday.

“Hey you,” Alan grins as soon as he walks in, dropping his duffle bag by the door and coming at Red for a quick, fierce kiss. Red leans into it, his hands going right for Alan’s hips and he feels a deep relief course through him.

Thank fuck. I’m not broken.

He was afraid these unwanted feelings for Jason that had started to creep their way in might have started to dig in too deep, deep enough that he might not even be able to be normal with Alan.

But Alan kisses him over to the couch, gently but determinedly pushing him as he kisses him. Within just few minutes of entering the apartment, his hand has found its way around Red’s cock and Red’s moaning into Alan’s mouth as he strokes him.

That’s a nice thing about Alan. His age hasn’t seemed to put any kind of damper on his stamina or enthusiasm. He’s not sure Alan gets a lot of opportunities to sleep with other men either, so they’re both pretty ready to go as soon as they see each other.

They get each other off in the living room pretty quick and chat a little bit on the couch, catching up. Alan moves gentle hands over the places where Red was injured and comments on how much better they look. They talk about an art exhibit Alan saw in Chicago while traveling for work. They head to the bedroom for a proper fuck. It feels normal. Red feels normal.

For a few blissful hours, Red’s able to keep Jason off his mind entirely.  
They decide maybe they should head out for a bit for a bite to eat, and Red’s just getting out of the shower when the doorbell rings. His heart just about stops.

He doesn’t get a lot of visitors. His sister lives two hours away and never shows up without calling. Other than her and Alan, there’s only one other person who ever stops by.

He feels a wave of panic rush over him, and shoves his way into a pair of pants as fast as he can, throwing on a shirt and only buttoning part way up before giving up and charging out.

It’s too late. He rounds the corner to see Alan standing in the doorway, his hair wet from having recently taking a shower of his own. Jason’s standing on the other side of it. The hallway is long and narrow, and it seems to take forever to walk down it.

Alan hears his footsteps and turns with a smile, “Ah, here he is now. Sorry, Red, wasn’t sure when you’d be out so I, uh, answered. You’ve got yourself a visitor. Obviously,” he says, stepping back, touching Red gently on the back and saying “I’ll leave you to it,” before walking off towards the living room.

Red watches him go, really just trying to buy some time to make his face go back to neutral before turning to face Jason. He knows what’s to come can only be awkward, maybe even excruciating.

When he turns back to Jason, he sees that he’s frowning.

“Hey,” Red says, as lightly as he can. “How’s it goin’ man?”

“Fine,” Jason says. Grunts, really. He’s not looking at Red. Looking past him, off in the direction where Alan walked off.

“Uh, so, what’s up?” Red asks, heart pounding, wanting to just disappear.

“Nothin,’” Jason shrugs, eyes narrowed, hands in his pockets. “Was gonna see if you wanted to do somethin’ tonight. Didn’t realize you’d be busy doing faggot stuff.”

Just like that, Red's world falls out from under him.

The words are a knife to the chest. His stomach turns to lead. He feels sick.

Red bites his lip, and shakes his head in disbelief. He opens his mouth once, twice, closing it again, gaping helplessly like a fish as Jason gives him an ugly look.

For a long moment, he’s too stunned to speak, but when he finds his voice, he puts all his effort into keeping it steady.

“Alright then,” Red nods. “Okay. You can go fuck yourself, Jason. Goodnight,” he says calmly, and starts to close the door. Jason’s hand shoots out to block it before he can get it completely shut.

“Hey! Whoa! What?” he says loudly, stepping closer, making to enter the apartment.

“What do you mean, ‘what’?” Red hisses, stepping forward to block that from happening.

He moves onto the front stoop and half closes the door behind him. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near Jason fucking Dixon right now, but he also doesn’t want Alan witnessing a fucking scene either. “You don’t get to call me that, Jason, and expect me to say anything else,” he says flatly. “I mean it. You can fuck right off.” He points at Jason’s car, keeping his expression stern but avoiding Jason’s eyes.

He’s hurt. He’s really hurt, and he can’t disguise the hurt in his voice, can’t fight off the lump in his throat or the sting of tears that’s sprung to his eyes.

“Hey, man, let’s just take-” Jason starts, hands up in a placating gesture.

“I mean it,” Red repeats. “Please get off my doorstep, Jason.” He’s doing all he can keep some semblance of calm, but his insides are an aching mess.

Jason looks- he looks a lot of things. Confused. Fearful. Still fairly volatile, too, but Red’s reaction seems to be neutralizing some of that anger, or disgust or whatever it was.

“Look, Red, I think you’re overreacting-”

“You don’t get to decide that I’m overreacting,” Red practically spits. “You don’t get to throw a vile slur about who I am and expect me not to have a fucking reaction. Has this whole thing really all just been a big fucking sham?” he demands, voice cracking. “Because if you really fucking hate what I am that much, Dixon, then it is a fucking sham. This is who I am, Dixon, and you can’t just like me and hate what I am-”

“I don’t!” Jason insists, stepping closer, eyes wide. “Nah, man. That’s not- I didn’t mean to say it. I really didn’t. I think I was just- I was surprised, is all, and maybe- maybe I was disappointed that you were busy. I was expecting you at the door, and I saw someone else and it threw me for a loop. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Red. I just- I found this fuckin’ coupon for that new mini-golf place in the paper and I was gonna see if you felt like goin’ and I just- wasn’t expecting someone else to open the door. I didn’t mean to say it-”

“Yeah, well you did,” Red says, arms crossed. “And I’m not gonna fuckin’ take it, Red. You wanna call me a faggot, got ahead. You can go back to calling me that every time you fuckin’ set eyes on me if you want, but you can’t expect me to still give you the time of day. If that’s how you see me, I think whatever this thing is needs to be done.”  
A quiet part of him inside gives a silent cry against that, but he ignores it, keeps his expression hard.

Jason looks truly distraught at that, though Red just stares him down. Jason’s shaking his head, mouthing wordlessly. “Come on, man. You have to know that I don’t. I- I haven’t said it, have I? In all this time? I haven’t used it-”

“Yeah,” Red mutters. “You haven’t- until just now. After three, four, fuckin’ months of spending every other night in this faggot’s company. Did you forget what I am, Dixon? Were you just trying not to think about it and how disgusting it is to you? Sorry for the rude wake up call, I guess.”

Jason reaches forward, tries to take him by the hand, but Red wrenches it away. Face falling, Jason lets his own hand flop helplessly back to his side.

“I’m tellin’ you man, I didn’t mean to say it like that. I was just a little sore, maybe, that you weren’t free to- to hang out. I was surprised. But- I been makin’ an effort not to say it. Haven’t seen that? But it’s not that eas...I mean, this is the way my daddy talked, Red. All the time. It’s the way my mama talks. And I just-”

“I don’t care how your fuckin’ parents talk, Jason!” Red cries, shaking his head. “You’re a grown fucking man. You’re in charge of the way you fuckin’ talk.”

“You’re right, man,” Jason mutters, looking deeply ashamed. “You’re right. But I’m sorry.”

Red stares at him. This is a man who said sorry for throwing him out a fucking window, and his first reaction was to go ahead and pour him a glass or orange juice. Jason flung him out a fucking window, and he gave him juice.

Comparing the two scenarios, it should be easy to shrug off a fucking word, but it’s not.

It took Red a long ass time to come to terms with who he is, and a longer time to come out. He’s gotten shit about it from all kinds of angles ever since, but he’s been able to take it. He got himself to a place where the words of the close-minded bigots of this shit ass town stopped being able to hurt.

But Jason’s no fucking stranger, no random gossipy church lady or generic redneck, and the hurt just seems to be getting worse by the second.

“Right,” Red says. “Well, I can’t play fucking minigolf tonight. I’m busy doing faggot stuff. So, goodnight,” he says, stepping back inside and closing the door before Jason can respond.

When he shuts it behind him, he has to lean back against it bodily. His knees feel weak. He knows Alan’s probably sitting there in the living room, waiting to ask him all about it, but he has to stumble down to the bathroom to collect himself before he can even think about going back. When he looks in the mirror, his reflection is blurred by his own tears, but he refuses to let them fall.

Fuck that. Fuck him.

He collects himself as best as he can, and goes to face Alan.

 

The conversation doesn’t go well. Alan’s nice. They only see each other intermittently, but he’s fond of Red and Red clearly can’t hide the fact that he’s upset. It’s written all over his face.

“Red,” he says quietly, standing up and walking over to him. He puts a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Alan gives him a look that says he plainly knows Red is nowhere close to fine.

“Who was that guy?” he presses, looping a hand around to the back of Red’s neck, concern in his green eyes. “Did I hear him call you a-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, shrugging out of Alan’s hold.

But Alan seems unable to let it go, and they have their first unpleasant interaction ever.

He pushes, and Red tries not to share, but Alan’s a fucking lawyer and he presses and somehow he gets it all out of him.

That Jason’s the guy who threw him out a fucking window. That they’re friends. That Red forgave him, and they became friends. He even gets, unfortunately, that Red started to have feelings he shouldn’t have.

He doesn’t say the words aloud, and Alan doesn’t ask specifically, but the pity in his eyes when he looks at Red tells him he’s gleaned the truth of it.

He’s humiliated. That’s the only way to put it. Humiliated he let Jason in, humiliated that he deluded himself into thinking Jason didn’t care about the gay thing, when he’d made a point to throw a vulgar comment at Red at every fucking opportunity for a couple of decades. Humiliated that Alan knows. Knows that he not only let him in, but ended up falling for the homophobic asshole.

The weight of it all brings hot tears back to his eyes, and he hates that Alan sees them.

Still so full of pity, Alan shakes his head.

“Look, Red. I’m sorry I pushed, okay? And I’ll butt out. I know it’s not my business. But before I do, I gotta say- you’re a really good guy, Red. You don’t deserve to feel like shit. Not ever. It worries me to think you’d let someone like that in. And I wish hard you wouldn’t let some fucking redneck prick like that make you feel anything less than happy.”

Red can only shrug in response. It’s a kind sentiment, but he feels low and entirely spent.

They had made plans earlier to grab dinner at a nice Italian place in the next big town over, but it’s clear Jason’s arrival and the conversation that followed has put a damper on their whole evening.

Alan put on a nice black button down after his shower, but when Red says nothing back, he starts to unbutton it. “Alright. Look, I’m gonna give you some space. You obviously need it. I’ll just crash in the spare room for a few hours and get up early to do the rest of my drive, okay?”

“Yeah,” Red nods. “Yeah, sure.”

Alan gives him another long, penetrating look. “Should I- should I still let you know next time I come through Ebbing?”

“Yes,” Red says at once. “Yeah, you should. I’m- I’m sorry about all of this,” he stammers.

“Don’t be sorry, kid. Just take care of yourself and reach out if you need anything.”

Red nods, and heads for his own room.

It’s only after he’s already thrown himself down on it that he realizes there are likely signs of Jason all over the spare room. An unmade bed, because he’s a lazy fuck whose mother has always taken care of that for him. His deodorant and toothbrush. Probably a pile of shirts in a corner. Red’s a little OCD as far as cleanliness goes in the rest of the place, but he’s allowed Jason to make room that his own.

He always kinda liked the fact that even when Jason’s not around, little parts of him are. Ugh. And now Alan’s in there, probably seeing it all and making more pitying judgments.

What a fucking mess, he thinks, shutting off the lights, even though it’s far too early to sleep. He feels a bone deep exhaustion, but still, he lays awake for hours, the disgustedly uttered ‘faggot’ replaying in his head like a broken record.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAH. I am so sorry for piling on the angst, especially after a few of you commented on how nice it was that Jason was making the effort NOT to use that word. But I'm sure you can tell I plan to fix this awful mess I've created. I promise. I think you can all guess what's really going on with Jason, even if Red can't right now. 
> 
> Thanks again for the amazing feedback. This school year is HARD, but getting to read your comments at the end of the day is such a delight. 
> 
> LOTS OF LOVE to this amazing little fandom.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason tries to make amends.

Over the next few days, Red does all he can not to think about it, but it’s an open wound. The more he tries to ignore it, the more hyperaware he is of it. The rude, painful wake up call plagues his mind, and there's no combating it.

They've spent the better part of four months devoting all of their free time to one another, but the bottom line is Jason still thinks of him as… that _thing_ he’s always thought of him as. If he hates what Red is, is disgusted by what Red is, scorns what Red is, then he scorns Red. There's no way around it. 

The thought hurts. Jason’s come to mean so much to him over the past months, a source of fun and laughter and entertainment in his life that was sorely lacking. Reliable. A constant. But it was a load of bullshit. He sees that now. Jason had been so nice, and nothing related to Red's sexuality ever really came up in all the time they've spent together, and there's so denying the infatuated feelings Red's developed for him. 

All those things made him blind to the truth of it. 

Jason’s got hate inside him, a hatred for what Red is, and they can’t be friends. They can't be anything. 

 For decades, there was only ever dislike between them. The fraction of time they’ve spent without that animosity between them is pretty minuscule against all those years, yet it still cuts so deep. 

To be perfectly honest, it breaks his heart. 

 But it shouldn’t. _No use mourning something you never really had, right?_

And yet now all he can do is wish with every fiber of his being that he could turn back the clock. Rewind these last months and go back to...where? Maybe the day Jason fixed up his office. They should have just fucking left it at that. Hatchet buried and back to their separate lives. 

He'd undo that decision to accept that first beer from Jason, unwind that stupid choice to go back to his house to watch the fucking Walking Dead, erase that weekend at the lake. He-  _no._ He's so mad, and he's so hurt, but even as his rational brain fantasizes about how much better it would be if he could Eternal Sunshine those memories out of his head for good, his heart cries out that he doesn't want to forget the lake. Not ever. 

It's agony.

Red tries to escape it by digging into work. Tries to distract himself. There’s enough to be done in the office that it can keep him fairly distracted throughout the day. But it’s not like he can really sit in the office from 9 AM until it’s time to sleep. These past months, he’s spent about every other evening with Jason, and without him to break up the monotony, things drag on. He tries to read, to watch TV, to cook something new, but when he reads, he reads the same sentence about 20 times, when he watches TV he keeps thinking about what Jason’s opinions on the material might be, keeps imagining his snarky responses to things, and when he cooks, he keeps finding himself making enough for two even though it’s just him, keeps wondering whether Jason would like what he made ( _he would, he’s always liked everything I’ve ever made)._

 

The sad thing is, a part of him expects Jason to show up at his door again. To continue trying to apologize... to say...anything.

But he doesn’t. Red should be glad. He made it pretty clear as he closed the door in Jason's face that he didn’t wanna see or talk to him again, and he should be glad someone as generally slow on the uptake as Jason actually got the message.

He should be glad, but he’s not, and he hates himself for wanting Jason to show up begging for forgiveness.

He wonders if maybe Jason’s still going to the bar as usual, waiting for him to drop in to do it then. He fears that maybe Jason isn't thinking about him at all. That maybe he’s come to his senses after all and realized he really doesn’t want to be friends with a deviant homosexual. Maybe he thinks he's paid his penance for the window by now, maybe he's glad it's ended.

 

Red doesn't know. He doesn't hear anything. Either way, he steers clear of the bar.

He’s not ready to see him, if he is there. Instead he holes up in his apartment alone. He has it decorated real nice, catalog nice, and Red’s always been fond of the place. It’s always been perfectly suited to him and his tastes.

 

It’s never felt empty or lonely before. Now it does. Quiet, empty and lonely. 

 

Red's just getting in from work on the fourth evening after the incident, when he feels his phone vibrate. It’s not a number he has programmed in, but it’s instantly clear who it’s from as soon as he opens it.

 

_Red, I was a fucking prick the other night. I know that and I’m sorry. Really, I am. I'm gonna head over to the bar tonight, around 7. Hoping you might stop by and give me a chance to say so in person. Please. I just hope my stupid fuckin mouth didn’t ruin things for good._

 

Red's heart seems to stop as soon he starts reading, and when it gets going again it seems to be going triple time to catch up. It’s funny they’ve never exchanged numbers before, in all this time and he wonders how Jason tracked it down. The fact that he cared enough to do so- it has Red thinking, wishing, hoping.

He feels the pull.

 

But he doesn’t respond and he doesn’t go. He watches a documentary about birds and watches the clock tick towards 7, spending more time looking at the clock than at the screen, but he doesn’t go.

 

He needs to be strong. To maintain some sort of pride. To protect himself from pain.

 

He’s scared. The whole thing has been truly and deeply terrifying. He’s scared that a word Dixon threw at him a couple hundred times over the course of their lives suddenly has the power to hurt him like it never did before. Red is vulnerable to it now, like he never was before, and he hates that.

 

He doesn’t go.

 

Around a quarter past eight, another series of texts come in. They're quite a bit less legible than the first one and Red can guess why.

 

_Look, I dont wana make any esxcuses._

 

_I no it was wrong. If u wanna turn youre back I kno it’s exactly what I deserve._

 

_But I hope ull give us 1 more chance to at least talk about it, even if it ends wtih yuo walking away. Please Red, giv me a chance to try 2 explane._

Red’s chest physically hurts as he reads them. He's unable to ignore the blatant desperation on display. He can see Jason so clearly in his mind’s eye now, sitting there hunched at the bar, probably snapping his head up every time the door opens, looking to see if it’s Red. Tapping his fingers on the bar, fidgeting. Drinking beer after beer just for something to do.

 

He shakes his head. He can’t.

He needs to protect himself. He doesn’t want to be vulnerable to this kind of hurt. He needs to ignore the tug, needs to ignore the fact that he misses him already when it’s only been four days. It was all a fucking farce. They’re too different. His bigotry runs too deep. Red spent too many of his teenage years being ashamed of what he is. He made a decision not to hide, and he’s gotten so much nasty, targeted vitriol from so many people in this town ever since.

He can’t have it coming at him from someone he cares about. He can't have it from the person he cares about most. 

A dry sob escapes his lips, and shaking his head, he throws his phone on the coffee table face down, and tries to listen to David Attenborough’s soothing voice talking about snow goose migrations.

 

Then 9:30 rolls around, and another one comes in.

 

_Please, Red. Your the best friend I ever fuckin’ had. I really dont care that ur gay.  I swear. I don’t wanna lose u over this. I dunno if u realize how imporant to me u are. Just come down 2 the bar, man. Let me try n make it right._

 

_Please._

 

Fuck. He’d been trying so damn hard to cling on, to dig his heels in and ignore it, but the truth is Red's resolve started to weaken with that very first text, and the last one makes him a goner.

 

 _Fine then, Dixon,_ he thinks as he throws on a button down shirt. _Hope you're ready for some serious fucking groveling though._

 

As he heads towards the door, the fear starts manifesting physically in his belly, a twisting, sick feeling. He glances at an open bottle of whisky on the top of his fridge, and considers taking a shot to calm his biting anxiousness, but no. He doesn’t want to make himself pliant, more susceptible than he already is to letting Jason back in. He’ll hear him out because he’s not ready for it to just be _over._ He wants to look him in the eyes, and see if that hate really is still there, somewhere, and if it is, he needs to find the strength to walk away. It took him such a long time to find pride in himself, and he can’t allow it to be shattered because of his own loneliness.

 

So he walks there, sober, heart pounding the whole way. When he arrives, he has to take a full three minutes before he can even get himself to walk inside. It’s just a couple minutes past ten, and the bar is noisy, but it looks like Jason got there early enough to grab what’s become their usual spot at the bar. He’s sitting on a stool, shoulders hunched, looking fairly pitiful as he listlessly twirls around ice at the bottom of an empty glass.

 

It’s crowded enough that Red doesn’t expect there to be an empty seat, but Jason is giving off such sad sack vibes that it seems no one was inclined to take the seat beside him. Red forces himself to fight down the terror he feels and to slip into the seat with a neutral expression.

 

Jason looks up with a start.

 

“Red,” he rasps, glassy eyed and disbelieving. “You’re here. I was just...just thinking about heading home. I- I didn’t think you’d come.”  His voice is quiet and small.

 

Red shrugs, guarded. “Neither did I,” he admits, not offering a smile.

 

Jason’s eyes flicker down towards the bar, clearly ashamed, nervous and unsure how to proceed.

 

“I’m- I’m glad you did,” he says, his regret making him looking younger, more vulnerable. “I- I don’t even know where to start, Red. I had- I had some good words planned out, but they’re- they’ve just been rolling around my head in so many different combinations for so long now, I don’t think they’re gonna come out right. I don’t think there’s a hope of them coming out right, when I gotta look you in the eyes and think about how I treated you. I'm shitty enough with words as it is. But I... I- I fucked up, Red,” he finishes weakly.

 

“Yeah, man,” Red says. “You did.” It’s hard, this attempt at stoic neutrality, when he can see pure anguish on Jason’s face, the kind that's impossible to fake.

But there are things that need to be said, before they have any hope of moving forward, and he can’t make this easy on him.

 “I know. I know. I’ve- it’s the only thing I’ve been able to think about, from that night ‘til now. It took everything I had not to- not to just keep banging on your door nonstop these past four days ‘til you let me in, but- I know you needed space. I’m sorry, Red. I’m trying to be a better man. A better person. I am. But I spent so long being anything but. I’m _trying_ to be better. And when I’m around you- when I’m around someone as good as you, it makes me think maybe I can be. You make me think maybe I can be-”

 

Red shakes his head, “That’s not fair, man. You can’t- you can’t put that on me. I can’t just stand by and accept you treating me like I’m less than fucking human because you’re ‘ _learning_ ’ or something. It's not fair.”

 

“I know,” Jason says emphatically. “I know that! Fuck. Man, I’m already fucking this up. But Red, you gotta know. You have to know how- how well I think of you. You’re the fuckin’ coolest, nicest guy I know. And I swear, from the moment you came up to me in that hospital room, not even knowin’ who I was and tried to be kind- the way you _still_ fuckin’ found it in you to be kind, even after you figured out who I was…Red, I haven’t had a single fucking bad thought about you since that day. You’re like...the fucking sun, man, and I can't think anything about you that isn't good. I don’t care that you’re fuckin’ gay. You’re the best person I know. Red, I really don’t know what made me say it that night- but I know it had everything to with me and nothing to do with you or how I think about you,” he says.

 

His eyes are shining and Red can see the torment and the anguish and he knows Jason means every word.

 

Red sighs heavily. “Look, Jason. You swear you didn't mean anything by it and- maybe I can allow myself to believe that. Now. But you gotta know. When you said it that night, I _couldn’t_. I didn’t.  Hearing that word out of your mouth, after how far we’ve come- it just took me right back. To when I first came home to Ebbing, determined to be out and unashamed. A lot of people around here seemed to think it was their fuckin’ duty to _make_ me ashamed. I never understood why they couldn’t just _let_ _me be_. I never did a goddamn thing to any of them. And Jason, you were one of them. Sometimes the worst of them,” he says, voice cracking as he feels the hurt swell up in his chest again.

 

Jason shakes his head, clearly in agony. “Fuck. Yeah. I _know_. I know I did that. I can fucking remember doing it. Of course I can. But Red, I just- I don’t remember _why_. But I swear, it’s not who I am anymore. It’s not who I want to be. The only thing I want in the goddamn world right now is to be your friend again.”

Stating his earnest request, he seems more boy than man, and it makes it hard for Red not to feel. He's like a fucking kindergartner who took things to far with a friend on the playground, desperately trying to make amends.   

Red sighs. “And to be a detective, right?” he asks, not quite smiling, but definitely softening.

 

He sees Jason blink, as he seems to process the subtle shift in tone and relaxes just a bit.  “What? Detec...Oh. I mean- that’d be nice too,” he says, sheepish, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But I’m serious, Red. I’ve got a stupid fucking mouth and it moves faster than my brain can think sometimes. It’s a fuckin’ shitty, awful habit, but I swear, I’ve been trying _not_ to say it. I really have. I dunno if you noticed, when we were hanging out but I really-”

 

“I noticed,” Red interrupts. “I noticed a lot of extremely drawn out ffff sounds during Call of Duty that I know weren't originally intended to be ' _fuck'_.” Damnit, there he goes giving Jason a little smile. He wanted to keep him on the fucking hook a little longer, but there it is. “I did notice.”

 

At the smile, Jason’s face crumbles into a look of pure, genuine relief. For half a second, he’s grinning back at Red with a genuine, childlike joy, but then he forces his expression back to something sober.

 

“But I _did_ say it the other night, Red. I said it and I shouldn’t have. But it won’t ever happen again. I promise." He rubs at the back of his neck again, a nervous habit. "I never... you know, _forgot,_ that you’re...you’re...gay or anything like that, Red. But I really mean what I said. I ain’t had a single bad thought about since that day in the hospital. Look, man, I realize I don’t deserve it. But I don’t want it to just _end_ , Red," he pleads, biting his lip for a moment before going on. "I’m wondering if you can find it in you to give me another shot.”

 

Red gives him a long look, takes in his desperation and his obvious remorse, that soft glimmer of hope and...well. He fucking knew they’d end up here from the moment he stepped out of his apartment. From the moment he got the first text, probably.

 

He’s not ready for it to end either. Of course he's gonna give him another shot. 

 

“Yeah. Okay,” Red relents quietly, nodding.

 

“Really?”  Jason gasps, mouth falling open slightly.

 

“It’s your one free pass,” he responds sternly, looking him right in the eyes. “I mean it.I can’t hear that word out of your mouth again, Jason. I really can’t.”

 

“Yeah. I know. You won’t. You won’t. I promise you won't,” Jason insists.

 

“Okay,” Red nods.

 

“Okay,” Jason nods back.

 

There’s a brief moment of awkwardness, where Red thinks about the fact that he’s not really sure where they ought to go from here.

 

He’s so busy thinking about whether there’s something he can to do break the tension, to change the subject that he’s taken completely by surprise when Jason reaches out from his stool and pulls him in for a fierce, tight hug.

 

Red’s too surprised to even react at first, as Jason Dixon, king of being oblivious to personal space, invades Red’s space in a way he never has before. He has his cheek pressed right up against Red’s, and even though his voice is low and quiet, it’s so close to Red’s ear that he hears it clear as day when Jason says, “You’re too fuckin’ good for this world, Red Welby. You know that? Too fuckin’ good.”

 

Red somehow manages to force himself hug back, if only so he can have an excuse to break away without seeming rude. His face feels hot, fiery hot and he’s painfully aware of the people around them, many of whom are looking their way. Jason doesn’t seem to notice how intimate the gesture was, or that there was anything amiss about it at all.

 

He’s just giving Red this goofy, affectionate and impossibly warm grin. A moment later, he spots the bartender walking by and waves for her attention, ordering a beer for Red.

 

\--

 

They manage to slip back into normal interactions by the time Red finishes his first beer. The stilted, a bit too formal talk dissipates at last, and they’re settle into their usual easy rapport.

 

They’re in the middle of darts, though, when Jason has to go and be...Jason again in a way Red was not expecting at all.

 

“Red,” he says suddenly, stepping towards Red taking the darts out of his hand right as he’s about to take a turn. “Come’ere.”

 

“What are you doing? We’re in the middle of a-”

 

“Let’s let these assholes play instead, yeah?” he says, turning around and plopping them into the palm of a large, bearded trucker who looks less than thrilled about being called an asshole, though fortunately not quite pissed enough to do anything about it. “Gotta talk to you about something.”

 

“Uh, okay,” Red says, as Jason puts a hand on his lower back and pushes him towards a tall table. There are no stools, but they stand up by it, Red putting his drink down and turning to Jason in confusion. “What’s up?”

 

Jason looks hesitant.

 

“Well, there’s just...something I kinda need to tell you but….you’ve only just- just agreed to give me a pass and I’m on thin ice. And there’s a chance you might lose your shit over this but, I mean, honesty is important and I- I can’t _not_ tell you either-”

 

Red feels a sense of confusion and dread set in.

“Fuckin’ hell, Jason,” he mutters, putting his head in his hands. He was just starting to get back to feeling normal and happy  around Jason again, and he’s baffled as to what could be on Jason’s mind. “What the hell is it?”

 

Jason rubs at the back of his neck. “Well it’s just- that guy. The guy you had over. Alan Radner-”

 

And then comes a wave of a shock, a rampaging bull of shock, because Red definitely never told Jason Alan’s name. In fact, Red never even _learned_ Alan’s last name himself.

 

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Dixon,” Red says, shaking his head in disbelief, because knowing Jason, this can only mean one thing. “You _didn’t.”_

 

“Uh, if you mean I didn’t run his plates, you’d uh, be wrong about that. Look, Red, I got- I got an officer’s instincts, alright and I thought he looked kinda shifty, so I did a little digging and-”

 

“No,” Red interrupts, hands up, just resisting the urge to slap a hand over Jason’s mouth to keep him from talking. “Jason, whatever it is, I don’t wanna know. That’s fucking- horribly invasive and...I dunno probably illegal- definitely entirely unethical,” Red stammers.

 

He’s honestly too shocked to be mad. There’s not room for anything but disbelief.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but Red, I got a weird feelin’ about him, and I- _had_ to. I mean, I’m just tyrin’ to look out for you man and I think you oughta know-”

 

“Jason, I _said_ I don’t wanna-”

 

“-that the dude’s _married_ ,” Jason says, shaking his head with all the somberness of someone breaking the news of loved one’s death.  

 

After pausing to blink a few times, Red just bursts out laughing.

 

Clearly that’s not the reaction Jason was expecting, and he frowns, deeply confused. “Uh, did you hear me, bud? That- that Alan guy. He’s married. Got fuckin’ kids and everything man. Look, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you but...well, isn’t it better to learn this kind thing sooner rather than later? I mean, what kind of an ass-”

 

“Jason, I _know_ ,” he says wearily, giving him a pitying smile.

 

“You _know?”_ Jason asks. To be fair, he’s got about three hours of drinking on Red, and is clearly struggling to process this. Although it’s kind of hilarious to see him struggle, and even though Red knows on some level he should be a lot more annoyed than he is, he feels a little bad at how confused poor Jason is and knows he may need to spell things out for him.  

 

“Well, not officially, no,” he admits. “We don’t exactly discuss it. But I’ve seen the tanlines where his wedding band should be. Jason, if you snooped as thoroughly as I’m sure you did, you’ll know he’s a lawyer in Missouri. Keeping up appearances is kind of a big deal. I know enough about him to have made a strong assumption about his homelife. You’re not exactly dropping a bombshell here, Jace.”

 

Jason blinks a few more times, clearly working it out. “Oh. You knew.”

 

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

 

“So he’s not...he’s not like your…” Jason pauses, seeming to struggle a bit with the next word. “ _Boyfriend_? He wasn’t pretending to be, like... all yours or anything?”

 

Red half-laughs again. There’s a kind of naive innocence on display here that is just...adorable? It doesn't make sense to see it that way. Jason fucking abused his power as a police officer to pry into Red’s personal life. He should be mad. He should be mad. But he’s not. He’s frankly fucking touched that Jason cares that much, that he would try to look out for him like that. Red shakes his head. This is not an appropriate reaction. But he can’t force himself to feel otherwise.

 

Gently, he tries to explain.  “No, Jason. No, it’s not exactly like that. It’s more of a once-in-a-while thing we’ve got going on. He’s from Kansas city, though I suppose your nosy ass already knew that,” he says, giving him a stern look. “He just- he drives through sometimes, and we-” _suck each other’s cocks_ “spend a little time together when he does. It’s not a relationship.”  

 

Jason nods, seeming to be getting it. “Oh. Okay,” he mutters. He still looks concerned. “And you’re- okay with that?”

 

Truthfully? Not so much.

 

He enjoys his time with Alan well enough, but there’s no denying that Red does have a longing for something real, and has for a while. He’s getting older now, and he’s certainly given thought to what it might be like to have something permanent. Exclusive. He hasn’t had a fucking boyfriend since college, and his longest relationship was fairly short and immature. He’s fantasized about domestic intimacy quite a bit over the last few years, though never with Alan.

 

For a long time, those fantasies revolved around a Prince Charming of Red’s own design, some handsome, warm intellectual figment of his imagination who he could go to farmer’s markets and art galleries with. Lately- painfully- the fantasies have of course revolved around someone just as unattainable as his nonexistent Dream Man. Around a person so different in every fucking way from Dream Man of his imagination it’s almost comical. It’s ridiculous, that somehow the fictional man of his dreams has been replaced by the very real, deeply flawed, fucking mess of a human being that is Jason Dixon, but that's the fucking truth of it. 

 

Jason is looking increasingly concerned by Red’s silence, and seeing his slight frown as he waits for an answer shakes him out of his thoughts.

 

“It works,” Red says, a little uncomfortable. He’s not really one for discussing his personal life, especially not with someone who’s spent most of their lives making derogatory comments about his lifestyle choices. “Alan’s a decent guy- and to be honest, the options in Ebbing are pretty limited. It’s not like you can just go ‘round plucking the gays off trees in a town like this. It works,” Red mutters.

 

Jason scoffs, “Decent guy, huh? Dunno if having a wife and kids while doin’...stuff with another dude every now and then is exactly decent, but I guess I ain’t in a place to judge.”  He folds his arms across his chest.

 

“Considering you’ve done your part to make the midwest a place where people like us have a hard time being true to themselves,” Red says, a bit stern. “No. You’re not in a place to judge.”

 

“Sorry,” Jason mutters, cowed. “I was just- like I said before. You’re the best person I know. Just- you know. You deserve to be happy. But I guess if you don’t- mind he’s got a whole other life, then...well. I guess it’s…” he trails off shrugging, chewing his lip a little, clearly a little upset at doing such a poor job of navigating the conversation.

 

Red sighs, not for the first time tonight, and reaches over to rest a hand on his forearm. “Look,” he says. “I do appreciate the uh, sentiment behind what you did…”

 

“But?” Jason asks, clearly nervous.

 

“Maybe next time you might think about _asking_ before you go snooping on my behalf. Or just- don’t. At all. Jason, you’re never gonna be a fuckin’ detective if they catch you using your authority for personal shit like that. You get that, right? Fuckin’ knucklehead,” Red adds, punching him in arm.

 

“Hey,” Jason mutters, pulling away and rubbing his arm. “You’re stronger than you look Welby.” He gives Red a searching look.

 

“So, you gonna turn me in then, Red?” Jason says, pouting, elbowing him in the ribs. He’s only being silly, teasing him, but Red can hardly stand how fuckin’ cute a look it is on him. And then Jason adds in a sincere, “I was only tryna look out for you,” and Red just about melts.

 

Hoping he’s not showing outwardly how Jason’s essentially managed to turn his insides to goo, he shakes his head once again. “I suppose not,” he sighs. “But I mean it, Jason. Don’t do that shit again.”

 

“As you command,” Jason says with a bow and a wink. “Anyway. Think those dudes’ll give us the darts back?”

He starts to turn with confidence and swagger, towards the trio of very large truckers he’d passed their darts off to, but Red seizes him by the back of the shirt and pulls him back hard.

 

“ _No,_ Jason. I don’t think they will. Particularly after you loudly referred to them as assholes while well within earshot. Think maybe it’s time we got you home.”

 

Jason grins at him, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

 

They’re more than halfway to Red’s apartment when it occurs to Red that he and Jason both- immediately and without thinking- turned this way upon leaving the bar, even though he’d used the phrase ‘ _it's time we got you home_.’ He feels that now all-too-familiar tug low in his belly at the thought that his apartment is being treated increasingly as Jason’s home too.

 

There’s warmth in that feeling, real warmth, but it’s coupled again with a twinge of fear. These past four days without Jason around, his apartment hasn’t even really felt like home. Now that they’re heading there, together, it’s feels like one again. Every moment they share now, has him falling further, and he knows eventually he’ll find himself at the bottom of a hole he can’t climb out of. Hell, he’s probably already there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your feedback gives me life, which is very necessary, because these stupid boys KILL me sometimes. 
> 
> Thank you all so so much for your support.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple of dorks, taking slow steps closer together.

 

Jason stays true to his word, and things get back to normal. For the most part, as it was before, they still don’t really talk about Red's sexuality and just fall back into their usual routine. Occasionally though, Jason will bring Alan up casually, perhaps in an attempt to show Red he really is acknowledging that he’s a gay man and that he's is fine with that.

 

It’s always painfully awkward. Red’s never been a huge fan of discussing his love life as it is. His own sister, when she comes to visit, has to poke and prod and ply him full of wine before he’s even willing to open up a little, and he still feels pretty shy and tight-lipped about it, even though she’s always been supportive.

 

With Jason, it’s a whole other story. When Ally pushes for details, he knows she genuinely is looking to hear about something ‘even half of one percent more exciting than my dull ass married and barely existent sex-life.’ On the other hand, he’s sure Jason really doesn’t want details and would probably in capable of handling them.

He's obviously just trying to showcase his efforts to be less of a dick about everything. Plus there’s the fact that his raging crush on Jason hasn’t abated in the slightest, and he spends infinitely more time thinking about Jason inappropriately than he spends thinking about Alan at all.

 

Red usually just shrugs it off and says, “I’m sure he’s fine. I dunno. He hasn’t come this way in a while.” Which is true, and fine and Jason pretty much just nods and says ‘cool’ and they move on.

 

Eventually though, Alan _does_ come through, and Red does let him stop by even though the last encounter was such a disaster.

 

And when Jason asks “Heard from that Alan guy lately?” while they’re sipping beers at the bar, Red can’t lie.

 

“Uh, yeah actually,” he mutters quietly, reddening. “He stopped by for a bit this weekend.”

 

“Oh,” Jason says, and the less than pleased expression on his face confirms Red's suspicion that he really was just trying to be polite and doesn't actually want to know. “I wondered if maybe he was around...when you said you weren’t swinging by the bar this weekend.” 

Yup. Jason seems pretty awkward about the whole thing too.

“Yeah,” Red mutters, wishing he’d just had it in him to lie.

 

“Y’all have fun?” Jason asks, a bit stiff in the shoulders, stiff in his mannerisms.

 

Red really would rather talk about anything else, because the truth of the matter is, after Alan used his considerable prowess in the bedroom to get Red off the first time, he spent the rest of the evening with his mind continually wandering back to Jason. Wondering what he was up to. If he was disappointed Red wasn’t at the bar. Pitiful. There Alan was, talking about an actually fascinating case...and Red found himself completely incapable of fully concentrating.

There was time Alan was a much needed breath of intellectual fresh air in this shitty backwards town, but it seems like that’s fading away faster and faster now, and Red knows why.

 

It's very uncomfortable all around, but Jason is clearly trying to acknowledge Red’s sexuality in a positive way, and he shouldn’t shut him down completely when he's making such a conscious effort... even if talking about it with him is already making his palms go sweaty.

 

“Uh yeah,” he says, taking a quick sip of beer to stall for time, to think about how to answer politely. “I mean, it was a short visit. Usually is. But we- we did head over to that Italian place in Partridge for some dinner. La Padella. Amazing food. You ever been?”

 

Jason nods quietly, “Yeah. Yeah, I took my ma there on her birthday last year,” he says, fiddling with a napkin. “Yeah, it’s real good. Real nice place. Best ravioli I ever had.”

 

“Oh. Yeah. I went with the gnocchi, ” Red nods, a pang of sadness hitting him at Jason's response. 

He’s only been to it a few times himself, but it’s a place that’s usually filled with couples, young couples on first or early dates, middle-aged married folks who look tired but happy to be away on what’s probably their first date night in ages, those rare but adorable older couples who hold hands across candlelit tables and still look at each other like they must have done when the first met sixty years before.

Sometimes there are groups of friends too, lively young professionals who found it on Yelp, who drink a lot of wine and will spend the night loudly barhopping after. 

Couples. Friends. 

Not a lot of dudes and their moms.

He wonders, not for the first time, when the last time Jason’s been with anyone was.

It just...it confuses him. Objectively speaking, Jason a fairly good looking guy. He might not be particularly sharp-witted, but he’s definitely seen women in this town walk ‘round on the arms of stupider men. And meaner ones. Jason’s reputation may not be stellar, wasn’t even before all the billboard shit, but Red feels like he should be capable of finding someone, if he really wanted to. He could always look outside Ebbing a little, maybe someone from a few towns over who might not be aware of some of his less-than-shining moments. 

He thinks the Jason he knows, the Jason who can relax a little and stop worrying so much about seeming cool and tough, the Jason who makes dumb-but-cute jokes, the Jason who gets excited when he talks about things he's passionate about, like comic books and his turtle and unsolved mysteries...he thinks _that_ Jason could probably win a nice girl over pretty easy, if he gave himself a chance to try. 

But Jason never talks about anyone like that, never mentions past relationships or anything.

Red doesn’t get it. The level of celibacy he suspects...it doesn't seem all that healthy.

He's not judging. He's really not. Hell, Red's has been pretty single for most of his life too, he's got his own things that have held him back from relationships and emotional intimacy, but at the same time he’s always...been able to find company when he needed it.

He’s not sure how Jason can just...exist like he does, without like...physical human contact? Ever? 

He wants to ask. _Jason, when’s the last time you were with somebody? You ever think about- I dunno, trying to find yourself somebody? There’s- there’s always, you know, the internet._ Right? First impressions might not be his strength and he takes some time to get to know. That might work for him. Build up something slowly, spend a little time getting to know someone online before meeting in person? 

But he can’t ask. He won’t ask. If Jason ever wants to share, of course he’ll listen. If he ever wants to discuss why he’s thirty-something and has only ever lived with his mother, if there’s some heartbreak in his past holding him back or whatever, Red will listen.

But he won’t ask.

“Gnocchi," Jason repeats, really slowly. "I remember seeing that on the menu,” Jason says, giving him an embarrassed sort of grin. “Thought it sounded good, but- I wasn’t sure how you were supposed to pronounce it. Didn’t wanna make an ass out of myself-”

 

That takes Red out of his head and he gives Jason a genuine grin back. “Seriously? Jason, you could’ve asked…”

 

“What? So that snide ass waiter could get all superior on me? Nah, man. The ravioli was good.”

 

Red chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re something else, Jace.” He’s been calling him that sometimes. It just seems to slip out now. He tries not to, worried that it's too familiar, too affectionate, but it just seems to come naturally, and- well, so far Jason doesn’t seem to mind.

 

Eventually, they move on from the topic, and Red pushes it again to the back of his mind. Maybe one day he’ll get an understanding of why Jason is the way he is, but he accepts that it’ll take time, and that’s okay.

 

\--

 

About a month after that fucking awful night where their friendship almost fell apart, Jason invites Red up to Willoughby’s cabin again. Red manages to play it cool, give a casual, _yeah, sure, that sounds fun, count me in,_ rather than a too-emphatic yes that will give himself away.

 

They both get out of work a little early on a Friday, arriving at the cabin when it’s still light out. Jason’s vehicle’s been giving him some trouble, so they take Red’s car instead. Like before, Jason sings most of the way up, breaking from his songs occasionally to give Red some directions, to point out a deer on the side of the road or a stupid bumper sticker on someone’s truck.

 

They throw together a quick dinner on arrival, then relax a little inside the house. It’s a cooler night, and Jason gets a fire going in the fireplace, and DJs his way through a bunch of old records he finds in a closet. Red decided to bring up some proper art supplies this time, and he sits by a large window, curtains drawn, sketching out a scene of the sun setting over the hills and lake, thinking maybe he’ll spend some of tomorrow painting it.

 

Jason spends some time doing repairs around the house, devoting half an hour to doing something that requires his head being under the kitchen sink and a lot of loud cursing. Red halfheartedly offers to help whenever he yells particularly loudly, but Jason always waves him off, saying it’s fine, which is good because Red probably wouldn’t have a fucking clue anyway.

 

“I don’t know how you do that,” Jason mutters a while later, coming up quietly right behind Red and startling him with his proximity. He clearly took a shower after the whole sink fixing thing, and he smells like soap and aftershave, and something piney.

 

“Sorry,” Jason laughs when Red jumps, putting his hands on his shoulders gently. Probably an attempt to calm him down, though Jason clearly has no idea his touch has the complete opposite effect. “Didn’t mean to scare ya. Seriously though. Like, how do you just get your hands to...do what you want like that?”

 

Red shrugs, turns a bit in his chair to look up at Jason. “I- I dunno," he mumbles. "It’s always been like, the one thing I can do. We’ve all got our talents, I guess.” He flushes as Jason gazes at him in admiration.

 

“I always kinda wished I could draw, you know. Never had a hope though. I could imagine what I wanted real clear in my head, but the second the pencil touched paper, it was a fuckin’ mess,” Jason says, shaking his head, clearly disgusted with himself.

"Really?" he asks. 

"Yeah. I used to try when I was a kid, but I just got...to frustrated. No talent for it at all."  

“Well, it's not all just talent," Red says. "Practice goes a long way. If you’re serious, I could maybe give you some pointers or something…” Red offers.

Jason gives him a sweet smile, but shakes his head. “Thanks, man. But I’m pretty sure it’d be pointless. I used to have some of those books, you know, _How to Draw Comics the Marvel Way_ and shit, but I never got any better. I’m a lost cause,” Jason says.

 

“So that's what you'd wanna draw, then?” Red asks. He’s well aware by now what a fan of comics Jason is. “If you could? Comics?”

 

Jason looks at him indirectly, clearly a bit embarrassed. He's still standing close behind Red, his hands resting on the back of his chair. “I mean...yeah. I guess. I read enough of them as a kid...and not a kid...that I thought it might be kinda cool to make my own. But I could never take anything that was in my head and get it to come out right on paper. Gave up on that idea like...in high school. Maybe middle school.”

 

Red listens intently as Jason opens up. He feels that familiar and increasingly common thrumming in his chest. A thrumming of affection that just seems to deepen every time he learns a little more about who Jason is.

 

“So did you have some kind of character in mind that you wanted to draw?” Red asks. “Like a story idea or anything?”

 

Jason brings a hand up to rub at the back of his neck, gaze averted. “I mean, yeah. I guess I did. More than one, over all the years, but- I guess there was this one in particular I kept coming back to.”

 

“Yeah? Tell me about it some,” Red says gently.

 

“Really? Nah. It’s- it’s pretty stupid,” Jason says.

 

“I bet it’s not,” Red says, forcing Jason to meet his gaze and see that he’s sincere.

 

“Well. Alright."

Jason relents and proceeds to tell him the origin story of Reese Wilder, an average small town cop who finds some robotic alien technology at a meteor crash site that fuses with his DNA and gives him powers or something. The tale unfolds somewhat chaotically, not entirely linearly, and it’s not the easiest thing to follow. Jason keeps back-tracking with ' _oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you about this part'_ or ' _oh, well that won't make much sense unless I tell you about the aliens that created the technology first'_ It’s not exactly sophisticated and even though Red’s not a huge comic guy, he knows enough to know it’s fairly derivative of a lot of other works. Also, the parallels between the character and real life Jason Dixon are very, very thinly veiled wish fulfillment.

Still, Red listens to every word, riveted by Jason’s passion and the spark in his eyes as he talks about the story that’s been in his head since he was thirteen.

 

“Anyway I’m gonna- I’ll stop. I don’t wanna bore you,” he mutters, after a good fifteen minutes of excited, disjointed rambling.

 

“You weren’t,” Red says, trying to show Jason how much he means that with the sincerity of his expression. It seems to work, because after looking back for a few moments with an unsure expression, Jason breaks into a warm smile.

 

“Thanks, man. Never- never actually told anybody about any of that,” he mumbles, pleased and sheepish.

 

“Tell you what,” Red says, reaching into a black shoulder bag where he keeps his art supplies and pulling out a sketch pad. “How about you describe him to me a little more, what he really looks like, his clothes and everything, and the robot arm and I’ll sketch it out for you?”

 

“What?” Jason asks, mouth falling open. He shakes his head and turns red. “Nah, man. That’s...you were in the middle of drawing out something real, and I just interrupted you with all that crap. Nah, I’ll let you get back to it. Took up enough of your time already with-”

Jason stops, because he’d been trying to turn away, but Red reached out to take his arm, holding him in place. He looks down at Red, frozen in place.

 

“Jace, relax. Come on, the light’s nearly gone for the night anyway. I was planning to come back to it tomorrow. I mean it. Let me give it a shot. Come’ere,” he says, getting to his feet and giving Jason's arm a tug so they can go sit on the couch. He settles down, comfy and waits for Jason to follow suit. He looks embarrassed, but eventually relents and sits down too.

 

“So, what’s he like?” Red asks.

 

Jason bites his lip. “Uh, kinda tall, I guess? Broad in the shoulders. I guess he just wears a regular cop uniform, in the beginning, but then he has to get that glove to- to cover up the robot arm…”

 

It takes them a while to get it right. Jason needs prodding to give out helpful details, but in about fifteen minutes, Red turns around his sketchpad and presents Jason with his first attempt at creating his character.

For a moment, Jason's mouth just falls open and he stares down at it, expression hard to read, but then he turns away from the drawing to look at Red and his face just fucking lights up with such sheer delight and awe that it sets off fireworks in Red’s brain and chest and belly.

 

He has to fight back this desperate urge to just take Jason’s face in his hands and kiss him like it’s the last kiss he’ll ever have. Fuck. He wants him more than he ever has before.

 

With effort, he swallows and mutters, “You like it?”

 

Jason shakes his head, almost in disbelief. “Like it? Red, man, this is like- this is exactly what I’ve seen in my head _forever_. How the fuck did you _do_ that? This is incredible, man. I _love_ it.” He looks like he’s about two seconds away from hugging the sketch to his chest.

 

“Well, I’m glad,” Red says, and he is. Right down to his bones.

It’s been a long time since he made art for someone like this. He’s made it for himself a lot over the years, stuff he likes and takes pride in. In high school, he made stuff he thought would impress his art teacher, Ms. Hawkins, who was probably one of the only people who really ever got him at the point in his life. In college, he experimented with the new things he was learning, hammering away at new techniques until he achieved mastery, a challenge when he was no longer a big fish in a very small pond on his college campus. Of course, he did art stuff for work now too.

 

But when was the last time he actually made something for someone else, just to make them happy? Maybe his mom, on the last mother’s day they had together, when he was ten damn years old.

 

“Here,” Red says, gently taking the sketch pad out of his hands and tearing out the sheet with sketch one of Reese Wilder. “That nemesis you were talking about- he seems like he might be fun to draw, too. Want me to give it a whirl with him?”

Jason looks...overwhelmed, and when he speaks his voice sounds almost strangled, “Red, man. You don’t have to do this. Seriously, this is more than enough,” he says, gazing back down at the drawing in his hands.

Red shakes his head, smiling.  _He has no idea. No idea that I'd sketch until my hands turned raw and calloused, if it meant I could keep seeing that expression on his face. I'd draw til I bled._  

“I want to. Come on. It’s fun. Go grab us a refill and we’ll get this going,” he says, kicking a toe at the empty beers on the coffee table. "All I need is a little hops-laden fuel and I'm good to go." 

 

“Alright,” Jason smiles and goes to do it.

 

They spend another couple of hours at it, sipping beers as Red creates a cast of characters from Jason’s imagination.

It’s a really joyous thing, but a little strange. At one point, Red gets this weirdly bittersweet feeling; what they’re doing is fairly juvenile- they’re acting more like a couple of teenage boys than two grown men at the moment, getting so excited about comics, but this never, ever could have been possible back then. Whether he was doing it just to fit in, to prove a point to the people around them or because he really just found Red’s soft-spoken delicacy that repulsive, he went out of his way to treat Red like shit, back in the day and they never could have shared a moment like this when they were young.

 

He puts that out of his mind and tries to focus on the fun of it, and is mostly successful. The only really challenging moment comes along when Jason describes the character’s very obvious and very female love interest.

 

A wavy-haired, busty, blonde MMA fighter chick who gets into trouble with the mob, gets saved by Wilder and ends up becoming his partner in crime-fighting. Red feels a sharp pang at that, and wonders if this is the girl Jason’s somehow waiting for, longing for, an unattainable fantasy woman he focuses on because he's too emotionally-stunted to go after a real girl... Is he just...living in his head, the same way Red’s waiting and longing for someone he won’t ever have?

 

Eventually, one of them yawns, and they toss it back and forth contagiously a handful of times before sharing a quick laugh.

 

“Guess maybe that’s a sign we outta hit the sack, huh?” Jason says, stretching.

 

“Yeah, I think so,” Red agrees. “Guess I’ll just keep the rest of these in the book, to make sure they don’t get messed up?” He gets to his feet. "I'll give 'em to you when we get back to Ebbing." 

 

“Yeah,” Jason agrees. “Yeah, here, let me stick this one back in too.” He passes it back to Red, who tries not to jump when their fingertips brush against one another. Gently, he sets the book down on the coffee table where he can find a spot amidst their six empty beer bottles.

 

They walk towards the part of the cabin with the bedrooms. There are three and his and Jason’s are right across from each others. When they get to their doorways, he's just about to say goodnight, when Jason reaches out to grip his arm.

 

“Red, those drawings. I can’t- I can’t thank you enough,” Jason says, looking at him with real gratitude, hand still resting lightly on Red’s forearm. His bare forearm, and brings up pleasurable goosebumps right away. 

 

“It was really nothing, man. I had fun doing them. I’m happy you like them,” he says quietly, his face unbearably hot. Does Jason realize how hard his heart pounds every time he touches him? Can he hear it? It’s pounding so loud in Red’s ears, he feels like he must. It's thunder inside his head. 

 

Jason shakes his head, an incredulous expression on his face. “You’re just- you’re the best fuckin’ guy,” he murmurs, stepping closer. Before Red can react, he has him engulfed in a hug. Again. “The best,” he mumbles, his mouth pressing against Red’s collarbone, the warm tingle of it practically giving him a panic attack. 

He's not thinking about it as strange, but his goddamn  _lips_ are on Red's skin and he  _can't._

 

Red hugs back as quick at he can and shrugs out of it, saying “No big deal. Night,” and practically flees into his room, shutting the door behind him maybe too loudly.

 

As soon as he's in the room, he throws himself face down onto the bed and groans into his pillow.

 

This is bad.

 

This is really bad.

 

Months ago, in his violent, rage-induced attack Jason Dixon could have quite literally been the death of him. But Red survived it, and somehow, because life makes absolutely not fucking sense, here they are, the best of friends... So much has changed, and now he feels like Jason Dixon could very well be the death of him simply by trying to give him one more fucking hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wellllll, there was a solid helping of fluff for you beautiful people! Hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> Thanks again for all the lovely, lovely support. You guys make me so happy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The emotional roller coaster known as the Red/Jason "friendship" continues.

The next morning, Jason seems tired. Red actually wakes up first, around eight and doesn’t see Jason emerge from his room until after 9:30.

 

“Hey man,” Red says lightly, looking up from where he’s reading a book at the kitchen table, his second mug of coffee in his hand. “Here I was thinking you were gonna drag me out at five in the morning for fishing again, and you’re just crawling out of bed now? Seem to remember a looottt of bitching last time about me wasting daylight, just because I had us out the door at 5:45 instead of 5:15.”

 

Jason blinks at him a few times, looking pretty out of it, and when he finally gives Red a smile, it seems weirdly forced. “I...yeah. I know. Sorry man, I just- I guess I didn’t sleep that well last night. Couldn’t get moving today.”

 

He does look dead tired, and he barely even makes eye contact as he talks. He seems stiff, agitated.

 

“I’m only teasing,” Red says mildly. “I was more than happy to just kick it around here. Do you wanna try and squeeze some in though, before it gets too hot though or-”

 

Jason shakes his head. “Nah, it’s alright,” he grunts, then bites his lip. “Yeah, I’m just gonna- I got some work around here I should get to.” He seems pretty fixated on the front door, which is a bit odd since he’s usually fairly content to laze about the breakfast table on an average morning, and since fishing isn’t happening, this ought to be average.

 

“You want some coffee first?” Red offers. “I’m on my second cup, but I think there should be enough left in the pot for another full cup. If not, I can throw on some more.”

 

“Nah,” Jason says, shaking his head. “Not- not just now,” and he walks out without saying anything, before Red can say anything else.

 

Red finds the behavior disconcerting. It’s almost...cold, which is strange considering what a nice time they had the night before, and what a good mood Jason headed off to bed in. He can’t tell what’s going on. He’s definitely seen Jason hungover before, and he can be a bit of a grizzly bear on those mornings, but they only had three beers a piece last night, which for Jason practically equates to a glass of water. It has to be something else, but Red can't imagine what.

 

He lets it go though and doesn’t see much of Jason, at least not up close. He seems hurried, frenzied and spends the morning running about with different chores. From the window, Red sees him take a chainsaw to a couple of downed trees, getting them into firewood sized pieces. Later, he does some repairs on a fence.

 

When Jason starts hauling his armfuls of firewood to their place by the side of the house, Red offers to help, as it’s obviously a task that requires limited skill to help with, but Jason brushes him off, says he’s fine and Red continues to gets the sense he wants to be left alone.

 

It gives him a strange feeling, that Jason’s being so distant, especially considering how gushingly grateful Jason had been last night, but Red opts to give him his space, going back to work on art piece from last night. He loves this scene. Last night he’d wanted to paint it at sunset, but now that he’s looking at the same thing in the bright light of day, it’s just as gorgeous. He wants to come here enough times that he can paint it at every time of day, in every season. He slips into an artist’s reverie, lost in his own world of color and texture, barely noticing the passage of time save for the changing light.

 

At noon, he finds his stomach rumbling, and wonders if Jason’s hungry at all, with all the running around he’s been doing. Red didn’t see him eat any breakfast, and he didn’t come into the house once since heading out that morning. He makes a sandwich for himself and under normal circumstances, he’d just automatically make one for Jason too and bring it out for him, but...he doesn’t.

Around one, Jason comes in, grunts _hey_ at him, grabs a packet of beef jerky and a bottle of water out of the fridge and leaves again.

 

 _What the hell?_ Red finds himself starting to worry? Did he _do_ something? He can’t have. Last interaction they had, Jason was fucking hugging him goodnight, practically nuzzling his neck and giving him a near panic attack. Unless he’s taken to sleepwalking and being an ass as he does it, Red can’t conceive of anything that he could have done to offend him.

 

What the hell could have happened between now and then to change his mood like this? Red casts aside any suspicions of getting bad news from the outside world, as there is no reception to be found out here.  

 

Around three in the afternoon though, it becomes impossible to give Jason the space he needs when Red suddenly hears a muffled howl of pain and stands up so fast he nearly topples over his easel.

 

“What the...Jason?” he calls, rushing out and the front door and speed walking towards the general direction of the sound, though he’s not quite sure of the origin.

 

He listens as he goes and can hear Jason’s voice, clearly unhappy, but it’s a smothered sound and he can’t make out what’s going on. Red has to walk all the way around the cabin before he realizes it’s coming from a closed cellar.

 

“Jason!” he calls, lifting up one of the doors. “You okay down there?”

 

“No,” Jason says at once, obviously irritated, though at least not in totally dying agony or anything. “Goddamn mother fucking wind must have shut the doors on me, and my fuckin’ flashlight went dead on me too. I’m fuckin’ tangled up in some goddamn shit and I can’t see shit and-”

 

“Hold on,” Red interrupts, trying not to laugh and how irritated he sounds. “I’m- I’m coming down. Gimme a sec. I’ll help you.”

 

He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and switches on the flashlight.

 

“Careful,” Jason says sharply. “It’s a goddamn fucking mess down here. Go slow.”

 

Red complies, and once he descends he sees Jason’s right. There are about five rows of shelves crammed full of stuff, some of them overflowing. Jason’s in the back corner, clearly quite literally tangled up in something. As Red passes the shelves he notices boxes of Christmas decorations, a really creepy garden gnome, various hardware, crates of wine, an old push mower, several chainsaws, a bunch of hunting targets...and finally he reaches Jason.

 

“Hey,” he says quietly, putting a hand on Jason’s arm when he reaches him. “ _Fuck_ ,” he adds, when he takes a proper look at what the issue is, shining his fairly meager phone light.

 

Jason seems to be tangled up in a combination of barbed wire and a twisted old fishing net. He seems to be free of anything around his face now, but Red can see blood there, on his cheek and temple. His body is still fairly tangled up in the stuff. “Jesus. Okay, man. I’ll help you get out of this. You’re okay. I’ll get you out. Let’s see...” he says, starting around Jason’s neck, gingerly starting to pull the stuff away.

 

“It’s a real fuckin’ mess down here,” Jason mumbles, holding still as Red gets to work. “When my light went out, I ended up tripping into this fucking shit while I was tryna feel my way back to the door.”

 

“Damn. How’s- how’s your head? I saw blood,” Red asks, continuing his work to extract Jason from the sharp wire and tangled net he’s all wrapped up in. “Here, can you hold the light? I need my hands.”

 

“It’s not that bad. I don’t think,” Jason says, but the gritted-teeth way he says it makes Red think he’s probably in more pain than he’s letting on. “One of them came way too close to my eyes for comfort, but overall it’s not too bad. I think the worst of it actually got my- OW! Stomach,” he says through gritted teeth, as Red curses. He’d just been trying to pull some wire off Jason’s torso but didn’t realize how deeply it was embedded.

 

“Shit,” he says again, as he feels a rush of warm liquid spill out over his hands. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize-”

 

“It’s fine,” Jason hisses. “Just get me out of this so we can get the fuck out of here.” Red looks at his fingertips, and sees they’re covered in blood. He accidentally pricks himself on the stuff a couple of times too as he works, getting a few minor cuts of his own. It’s sharp as hell.

 

“What the hell kinda barbed wire is this?” he mutters, squinting at it in the low light.

 

Jason shakes his head. “This place used to belong to Willoughby’s uncle. He was some kinda crazy survivalist type. People he’s got some kinda crazy bunker on the property somewhere, though me and Willoughby looked some and never managed to find it. Think this is the stuff they use in prisons.”

 

At least Jason’s jeans are thick enough to offer decent protection, and once Red detangles him down to the waist, he’s able to get out of the rest of it easily enough. With a gentle hand on his upper arm where he knows there was no embedded wire, Red takes back his phone and carefully guides him back out into the sun.

 

“Damn, Jace,” he says when they’re out in decent light again. “You tore yourself up good. But you’ll patch up easy,” he says, feeling a rush of nerves but trying not to show how freaked out he is, for Jason’s sake. He’s looking a bit gaunt in the face as it is.

 

“Here, let’s find you a seat,” he says, guiding him by the elbow towards the house and sitting him at the kitchen table. “There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom. I’ll go grab it and be right out.”

 

He rushes in, grabs a couple of clean cloths and and the first aid kit, and comes back out to Jason. “Just a sec,” he says, as he fills a pot with hot water.

 

When he comes back towards the table with the pot, Jason’s got his shirt off, and Red can see three deep scratches on his torso, one on his chest and two on his belly, along with a few more minor ones. There are also two around his already scarred face that don’t look great.

 

“Shit, Jason,” Red says. “You really did a number on yourself.”

 

“That fuckin’ crazy redneck uncle of Willoughby’s did a number on me, you mean,” Jason mutters as Red falls gently to his knees on the wooden floors of the cabin. He gives Jason’s jean’s leg a quick tug and says, “Here, budge up, let me take a look at these.”

 

Jason complies, shifting forward in his chair to give Red better access to the two cuts on his belly.

 

The deepest of them is bleeding freely, and Jason’s got a hand pressed against it. Gently, Red takes it in his and moves it aside, then dunks the cloth in hot water and presses it to the wound as quickly as he can.

 

He may not have spent long in that cellar, but it was long enough to fill his nostrils with a pungent mix of animal droppings and mildew. He hates to think about what filth might have made its way into the cuts.

 

Jason lets out a hiss of pain at the contact, and Red murmurs “Sshhhh, you’re alright. You’ll be alright,” soothingly as he dabs at it. He puts some pressure on it as he cleans, peeking occasionally to see if the bleeding is slowing any. “Alright. There we go. This one’s getting better already.”

 

He sets that rag aside and and gently starts to pat away the water with a clean, dry one so he can bandage it up. He glances up and sees Jason is wincing.

 

“You’re okay, man. You’re okay. These are chicken scratches compared to the stuff you’ve been through, right?” he says, giving Jason a smile.

 

Jason rolls his eyes. “Yeah, maybe. These chicken scratches sting like a mother fucker though.”

 

“I know. But look, this is the worst of them, and it’s ready for bandaging now. Oh, and here,” he says, noticing a bottle of ibuprofen in the medkit. “Take a couple of those.”

 

“You don’t got nothin’ stronger?” Jason asks and Red deigns not to answer, just scoffs a little and gets to work opening up a thing of gauze and placing it as gently as he can across the gash.

 

Some of the panic he felt at the bleeding of that wound has abated now. Even the worst of them looked worse than it really was, so he relaxes a little.

 

Kind of.

 

Now that he’s less terrified that Jason might be really hurt, he has more brain space to think about the fact that Jason is bare-chested in front of him. It’s a lot to handle.

 

Truth be told, Jason’s a little more...doughy around the middle and definitely less well-groomed than most of the men Red’s been with, but- well he kinda likes it. He likes the hair on his chest, and the trail that leads down his belly. There are no chiseled abs here, but Red can’t remember ever wanting to run his hands over someone’s skin more. He swallows and tries to focus on the task at hand and not the rise and fall of Jason’s nude torso.

 

“One down, I’m gonna say...four to go,” he says, looking Jason up and down. Jason seems to be looking straight ahead, his jaw clenched, clearly opting to try not to think about it all.

 

Red tries not to smile at how poorly he seems to be handling this. “Breathe, Jace. Channel your inner Daryl Dixon, yeah?” he jokes, giving him a quick pat on the thigh, but Jason doesn’t smile or look down at him.

 

“Let’s just get it over with,” he mutters, looking ahead.

 

“Sure,” Red says, frowning slightly. Was that overfamiliar? Between the two of them, Jason’s usually the more physically touchy of the two... maybe he’s just having a hard time with the pain? The wire was definitely sharp as hell.

 

With the first cut bandaged up, he moves on to cleaning out a second one, up by the top of Jason’s rib cage. He tries harder than ever to be gentle, since Jason’s clearly not doing a great job of tolerating his pain, but he also does what he can to speed the process along.

 

When he finishes with that, he stands up to take care of the cut on Jason’s chest, which is near the top of his left pec, close to his heart. Red resists the urge to lay his palm flat against it to feel it beating, and instead tries to distract Jason with conversation as he leans over him, cleaning out the cut on his chest with water that’s still hot.

 

“So how big is this property, anyway?” he asks, gently dabbing at the wound, his other hand resting on the back of Jason’s chair.

 

Jason shrugs, and grunts. “I dunno. Pretty big. Maybe 30, 40 acres?”

 

“Damn,” Red says. “Well I dunno how you and Willoughby went about looking for this crazy bunker, but I’m kinda curious. Maybe we should come up with some kinda systematic way of looking for it. On a day when you’re not so busy doing repairs, I mean. Could be fun to find it, if it really exists. I think? Guess it depends how crazy he is, right? Like, it’s not gonna spring some kinda Indiana Jones booby traps on it if we find it, right? Boulders? Poison darts? I dunno, anthrax?”

 

“I don’t know, Red,” Jason says stiffly. “I didn’t know the guy.”

 

He seems annoyed.

 

Clearly distraction through conversation is not gonna help here, so Red slips back into silence, trying not to feel too disheartened. Soon the third cut is patched up and gauzed over, and there goes the last opportunity he’ll probably ever have to put his hands on Jason’s chest.

 

He stands up a little straighter, preparing to take a look at the ones on Jason’s face.

 

“Here,” he says quietly, reaching down and using a gentle thumb and forefinger to tilt Jason’s chin a bit to the right. “Just tilt your head this way and I’ll-”

 

He freezes because as he tilts Jason’s head they somehow end up locking eyes and the second it happens, Red feels a jolt go right through him. It’s too fucking intimate, the gesture, the way he’s holding him, the softness of his touch.

 

He sees that at once, but it’s too late. He’d done it without thinking, just needing the angle so he could inspect the cuts, but the whole thing is just too fucking intimate.

 

Wi Jason seated at the kitchen table like that, the way Red’s standing over him, hand on his jaw, he could be a lover walking into the kitchen, about to kiss him good morning.

 

And the thing is, he fucking _wants_ to.

 

When Red looks down into those hazel eyes that have sparked with so much laughter and warmth over these last months, when he takes a moment to really take in the handsome features of his handsome face, really made no less handsome from the scars it’s attained, Red fucking wants to, from the bottom of his heart.

 

_And Jason knows._

 

He clearly knows, because it’s clearly written all over Red’s face. The whole moment might have lasted two seconds, or thirty, he really doesn’t fucking know. It seems to last forever, the two of them frozen, Jason taking it in, but the moment it _changes,_ Red knows in an instant and it shoots hot panic straight through him.

 

He feels a sick, twisting, sinking feeling because Jason clearly _knows,_ and fuck, fuck, all at once he’s jumping to his feet so fast Red has to step back to keep from being bowled over backwards.

 

“You know,” Jason says quickly, grabbing a rag from the bowl of water. “Think I’m gonna- gonna take care of the rest of these on my own,” he says, so fast and mumbly Red can barely make it out.

 

And then he’s gone, off towards the bathroom and Red feels like he’s suffocating, drowning.

 

The cabin, ordinarily perfectly spacious, seems too small all of a sudden, too wretchedly small and he has to run for the front door. For a moment, he thinks he might be physically sick, but it passes. Still, for a long time all he can do is stand there, face burning hot, trying to get control of his panic.

 

He’s ruined it. He’s fucking ruined it. Jason’s not going to be able to handle this, if the illusion is busted. If Jason, even a little bit, that Red might be attracted to him, he’s not going to be able to cope. He’s spent his life marinating in such a mixture of bigotry and homophobia and toxic masculinity, since the goddamn womb, probably, and there’s just no way he’s gonna be able to deal.

 

Red saw the panic in Jason’s eyes when their gazes locked. He’s not going to be able to cope. He thinks this new version of Jason, the Jason who genuinely seems to be trying to be a better man might be willing to try to move past it.

 

He might, after this temporary disgust and panic subsides, try to move forward, ignoring the fact that Red has a blatant crush on him and just trying to be friends with him anyway, but Red knows it won’t last, with the secret out in the open. Even if they try.

 

It’ll start to fall apart.

 

Chest aching, distraught, Red decides to take a walk.

 

He heads down to the lake and starts moving along the shore as the evening goes on, figuring that’s his best bet for not getting hopelessly lost on these forty acres of a crazy man’s property. It’s not exactly landscaped, and there’s some tough terrain and he only has on a pair of sneakers, but that’s good. Navigating his way across boulders and muddy banks is decently distracting.

 

He walks for about an hour before he decides it’s getting dark enough that he better turn around to make it back before the sun is really down.

 

When he gets back, Jason is nowhere to be seen, but there’s an open bottle of cabernet on the counter.

 

Clearly the idiot headed back to the cellar at some point while Red was gone. He glances at it and realizes it’s a good year, and probably a crazy expensive bottle, though he’s pretty sure Jason has absolutely no clue about that and wouldn’t care even if he did.

 

Red sighs, and decides to head to his room. Jason’s obviously making himself scarce, but Red’s sure he’ll come by for the rest of that bottle at some point and Red really doesn’t want to have to face him and the painful awkwardness of it all if he does.

 

He can hear music playing quietly through Jason’s door as he heads to the bedroom he uses, but he doesn’t pause to see if he can figure out what he’s listening to, and if his genre of choice reveals anything about his mood. He just goes inside, closes the door and throws himself down on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddamn, it's just way too much fun tormenting these beautiful boys and making them dance blindly around each other. Having such warm and supportive people reading it as I go and responding so enthusiastically is making it infinitely more enjoyable though. I love you guys!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red gets some insight into some of Jason's recent behavior.

 

Lying on his bed, Red tries to scroll through his phone to distract himself from the sick feeling looming over him, but of course there’s no fucking reception out here in the woods, so that plan’s out. He pulls out his current book of choice, but not for the first time in his life, finds himself spending ten minutes on the same page because his thoughts keep circling back to Jason Dixon. Eventually he ends up flinging it across the room in frustration. It thuds against the wall and lands in a heap.

 

When the sun goes down, Red figures maybe he might as well just try to go to sleep. Not much else to do out in the country after dark.

 

If things hadn’t taken that goddamn turn, if he’d managed to keep his expression neutral instead of blatantly full of lust and longing, this night could be going so differently. It’s a little milder than last night, and they could be sitting around the fire outside. He brought up hot cocoa and peppermint schnapps, and they’re just sitting in his bag right now, instead of filling their mugs as they sit around the crackling fire.

 

If he hadn’t gone and shown his cards, Jason might be out there strumming his guitar and singing deep and soft and low while Red looks up at the stars. After their last trip here, Red spent some time Googling constellations, and it’s a clear, crisp night with a tiny sliver of a moon. It’d be perfect for stargazing. Perfect for enjoying Jason’s quiet company.

 

Instead, he’s lying in here. Miserable and worried. Wanting to sleep but unable to. He has some melatonin in his bag and thinks about popping a couple, but fuck it. Jason pulled at least six bottles of that wine up from the cellar. Red saw them sitting on the counter. They’ll send him to sleep just as quick, and he could use a full glass of something dry and oaky right now to quiet his thoughts.

He doesn’t want to experience the awkwardness of running into Jason out there, so he listens at the door for activity before stepping out. Walking softly, he sneaks out to pour himself a generous glass, then immediately takes it back to his room.

 

He drinks it in bed in his boxers, thumbing through a stupid celebrity magazine from like five years ago he found in the bathroom, because clearly concentrating on his actual book isn’t happening.

 

He’s just about done with his glass and contemplating heading out to grab another when he hears a light knock on his door. His heart gives a hell of a leap, and he freezes, but can’t bring himself to say anything. Not sure he can form any sounds other than a panicked squeak, honestly.

 

“Uh, Red? You- you awake?” he hears Jason say quietly on the other side of the door.

 

“Um, yeah,” Red responds, standing up and grabbing the t-shirt he’d already taken off and dropped on the floor. “What’s up?” he asks, heart pounding in his chest like a wild animal.

 

“Can I...talk to you for a bit, man?” Jason asks as Red hastily throws the shirt on.

 

He does have a vague, absurd thought of fleeing through the goddamn window, but just says, “Yeah, just a sec,” as he smooths out the shirt and walks over to the door.

 

“Hey,” he says as he opens it. He’s too terrified to even look Jason in the eyes, and finds himself looking just past him instead.

 

“Were you, uh, about to turn in?” Jason asks, clearly nervous as well. Red gives him a brief glance, sees he’s in a plain white t-shirt and fucking Spiderman pajama bottoms. And somehow, on Jason, it’s a fucking _sexy_ look _._

 

“Nah, it’s fine. I wasn’t, really... Um. How are all your cuts?” Red asks, wanting to die a little.

 

“Better,” Jason says, giving him a somewhat strained smile. “Better. You patched me up good,” He glances past Red, into the room. “Uh, can I come in for a minute, maybe?”

 

Red looks at Jason in puzzlement, trying to understand what the hell is going on.

 

Based on the way Jason bulldozed past him and into the bathroom that afternoon, Red was certain he’d come in here angry, or at least disgusted, or... _something_. Intending to establish boundaries at best, or to cut Red off completely at worst.

 

But it doesn’t seem like it’s any of those things, and that makes Red relax a little, but there’s still some very tense energy coming off Jason and Red knows the conversation to follow can only be difficult, if not entirely excruciating.

 

“Sure,” he says, though he’s never been less sure about anything in his life.

 

Jason nods, steps past him and into the room.

 

He walks over to the half-made bed Red had been lounging on and takes a seat on the edge of it, starts immediately rubbing at the back of his neck. A nervous habit that Red’s come to recognize for what it is at once.

 

But _why?_ Why’s he so nervous? Because he’s about to tell Red they can’t be friends anymore? Because he’s worried about hurting him?

 

Red looks at him, but can’t bring himself to say anything, can’t bring himself to speed along the inevitable.

 

God, and he’s Jason’s fucking _ride back to Ebbing._ Tomorrow’s drive back is going to be two hours of agony.

 

Jason, despite practically bounding in here once Red gave the okay, also seems in no hurry to start talking. He’s looking at his own feet instead, which are dangling off the side of Red’s bed, one of them tapping against the wood floors.

 

“Do you wanna sit?” Jason says suddenly, looking up. “Kinda dickish for me to just- barge in here and sit while you’re just- you know, standing there. Or I can- I mean, I could get up. I guess I didn’t even ask if I could-”

 

Red stares in astonishment as Jason stutters on, a bundle of nervous energy, eyes wild and darting around the room like a trapped animal.

 

 _Fuck,_ Red thinks. _Is he regretting coming in here? Does he think I’m gonna jump him or something now that he’s on my bed?_

 

“Ah, hell. Please sit, man,” Jason practically pleads when Red spends too long thinking and not enough time answering. “I feel- I feel really weird sitting, when you’re not.”

 

Red feels pretty fucking weird about sitting side-by-side on his bed next to Jason as they have a difficult conversation about- whatever the fuck they’re going to talk about, but in spite of his nerves, he trudges forward and takes a seat, closer to the foot of his bed, at enough of a distance from Jason that he can turn his body to look at him without feeling too physically close.

 

“Look, Jason,” he mumbles, palms sweating like crazy already. “About earlier-”

 

“Wait,” Jason says, turning to look at him quickly. “Can I- Can I just get a few things out first? I- I really need to, man, and I- I don’t know how to even say any of it but- I know that I need to. And if I don’t go first- I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull it off.”

 

Jason is definitely buzzed, and Red can see a faint red stain to his lips from the wine. Definitely not the drunkest he’s ever seen him, not by a long shot, but by now Jason’s clearly finished off that open bottle from the counter.

 

“Okay,” Red nods. That’s fine. He can listen. It’s a lot easier than talking. He’ll just have to put all his efforts into controlling his own reactions to whatever Jason says, to not showing how deep it cuts when he inevitably says something heartbreaking, but focusing on that seems easier than talking.

 

“I feel like I’ve gotta- I’ve gotta explain some of the things I’ve been- some of the ways I’ve been acting, lately, Red. And I really I’m not sure how to. I’m not sure. But I gotta try.”

 

Red nods, his throat tight, but says nothing, still determined to listen rather than talk.

 

“So that- that night, when I went over to your place,” Jason says, clearing his throat a bit before adding, “When Alan was already there-”

 

“Wait, what?” Red says, so confused that he immediately violates his vow not to talk.

 

He was so certain Jason was about to explain his reaction to Red _today,_ when he got all carried away while tending Jason’s wounds _._ He doesn’t understand what’s going on in Jason’s mind if he’s going that far back. Not at all.

 

“Yeah. You know. When I acted like a complete fucking asshole and nearly wrecked everything-”

 

“I mean- I know what you’re- I know what you’re talking about, Jason, but- we resolved that... At least I thought we did. I’m not sure why you’re-”

 

“No,” Jason says fiercely, shaking his head. “We didn’t. Because I wasn’t honest with you, Red, when I apologized. I wasn’t honest, because I didn’t- I didn’t fully understand _why_ I acted like that _._ To be honest, I still don’t know if I fully do, but I maybe have a bit of a better idea than before...”

 

He trails off a bit, but Red can’t really follow the disjointed train of thought. He just waits, trying to look patient even though his insides are squirming with a need to know what the fuck is happening.   

 

“I told you it was because I was surprised, right? And...disappointed that you were busy, right? Is that what I said?” Jason squints, scratching at his head. “I can’t even fully remember it all, because as soon as I said that word I was so worried that you weren’t ever gonna talk to me again and it’s kind of a blur. I don’t even know for sure what I said.”

 

He’s clearly going through some very confusing internal conflict right now, and Red cannot make out the reasoning behind his twitchy, nervous behavior at all, his brain can’t catch up to what he’s seeing fast enough, but he does his best to respond. “Um, yeah,” he nods. “I think that was- that was the gist of it.”

 

“Well that wasn’t true,” Jason says quietly. “Or at least it wasn’t- it wasn’t the only thing that was true.”

 

Red blinks. _Where is he going with this?_

 

“Okay, so…”

 

“I was _jealous_ , man,” Jason says quickly, loudly, and Red’s mouth falls open, his breath catching in his throat.

 

 _Okay,_ he tries to rationalize. _That makes sense. You’re his only friend and he wanted to hang out with you, and you were busy. That makes sense. Jealous._

 

As he thinks, Jason swallows hard and then soldiers on, “Seeing someone else open your door, knowing there was someone else getting time with you, that you wanted to spend time with. I was goddamn jealous. I can admit that now. And then when you weren’t talking to me for those four days... I felt _,_ so _low_ Red. The lowest I’ve felt in a long, long time. Everything just felt so hollow and empty without you and it was only _four days._ Four days and it felt like the world was ending,” he says, shaking his head, looking at Red with wide, earnest hazel eyes.

 

Red can’t fully handle it, can’t handle the intensity of Jason’s gaze and the weight of his words, and he wants to look away, but he’s frozen, hypnotized, unable to do anything but gaze right back.

 

“And it just- it got me thinking,” Jason mutters, shaking his head. “And trying not to think. Fuck, I’ve been trying so fucking hard _not to think!_ But I can’t stop it anymore.”

 

“Jason,” he says, really slowly, his heart hammering in his chest like a jackrabbit with an itch. “I’m not sure what you…”

 

“ _You,_ Red,” Jason says. “You make it impossible. I know you’re just being _you,_ but who you are, Red... _fuck_ . You make it impossible not to think. Like last night. With those fucking comics,” Jason says, biting his lip. He just looks... _terrified._ Talking about comics and terrified, and Red’s not seeing the connection.

 

“Comics? Jason...what…” he whispers out, trying to understand.

 

“No one’s ever done anything like that for me before!” Jason bursts out, but he looks _pained_ and almost manic and Red still just can’t seem to make these puzzle pieces fit.

 

“They were just a couple of drawings, Jason,” he says quietly, but maybe some part of him is starting to _wonder_ and his pulse quickens even further, and his palms are still crazy sweaty, but the feelings behind that are shifting. “No big deal.”   

 

He says the words, but whatever is happening right now, Red is starting to get that it is a _big deal._ Whatever Jason is trying to say is clearly a very big fucking deal.

 

Red finally feels like he might be starting to get a fucking clue, but he’s scared to trust it, too fucking scared to trust it only to find out he’s wrong, that his imagination and desperation are making him get ahead of himself, and he can’t go there, he can’t hope, not until it’s laid out in plain black and white, because daring to dream with anything less than that is just a recipe for heartbreak.

 

“No,” Jason says, shaking his head. “They _are_ a big deal. I mean, after we went to bed last night, I just- I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you. Maybe they just seem like a little thing to you, but I’ve never- I’ve never _had_ that, Red,” he says, his voice cracking. “Never had anything like that, never had someone go out of their way like that just to make me fuckin’ happy. Just ‘cause. I’ve never had all these little things that you just _give_ so easily. And it’s just...there are a million little things and they’ve gone and added up to this one big thing that I can’t ignore.”

 

Jason’s sitting there, hands twisting in his lap, voice coming out strained and ragged, sitting there in that white t-shirt that clings close enough that Red can make out the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he bites his lip and looks at Red with an expression so unbelievably vulnerable and raw.

 

 _Fuck,_ Red thinks as the realization of what’s happening finally fucking crashes into him, like a fucking tidal wave into the back of a beach-dweller who’d been staring in the fucking opposite direction.

 

 _Fuck._ His face burns, and his stomach is like hot liquid butter, and his mouth falls open.

 

“And then today. With the fucking- the way you were helping me, with the cuts, and- and your hands...it was _too much_ , Red. I don’t know what to do,” Jason says, anguished, scratching at his hair with one hand, clutching the fabric of his pajama pants with the other, twisting it around in his fist.

 

He turns to Red, not for the first time looking so much fucking younger than he is, and in a small voice he whispers, “I think I _like_ you, Red. I think that I’m _like_ you.”

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

Jesus. _Fuck._

 

Red feels a rush of dizziness as the aftershocks of the realization continue to hit him, feels grateful he’s sitting down as Jason’s words reach his ears and his brain and his fucking heart. His chest feels too small to contain everything inside it.

 

He just... _he never thought-_ he never thought he’d hear words even remotely close to these come out of Jason Dixon’s mouth.

 

Red just stares, because even when he’s fantasized about Jason, and a life with him, he never pictured anything remotely like _this._ When he allowed himself to dream, it was always about another fucking _universe,_ a beautiful, alternate reality, where Jason was gay, had always been gay and in love with him too and they were already in a blissful relationship, with a house and a dog and fucking vegetable garden in the backyard.  

 

Alone in his bed, Red allowed himself some obscure and far off fantasies, but he always had enough of a sense of self-preservation to never torment himself imagining _this_ occurring.

 

That the real Jason Dixon would ever...come out to him- _declare feelings for him..._ It had seemed so fucking impossible, Red never even let himself try to imagine a moment like this. Twenty years of scathing fucking comments and blatant homophobia had cemented in Red’s mind that this was impossible, and his brain can’t catch up, can’t process that this is reality.

 

He’s built up walls to block out this kind of absurd thinking, and built them strong and high. As he looks into Jason’s wide, scared eyes and takes in his words, they do _start_ to crumble but it’s a slow, gradual process that involves a lot of open-mouthed staring.

 

He’s been quiet for too long, and Jason is still looking completely fucking anguished, biting his own lip so hard it must be nearly starting to bleed. He seems to realize he’s hurting himself, and stops, and in an even quieter voice repeats, “I like you, Red.”

 

He’s not imagining it.

 

It’s really real.

 

He should… he should say something helpful.

 

Red should do something that might really- that could actually help Jason process this, when it’s clearly weighing so heavily on him, but Red’s heart has just been so deeply entrenched in that aching, longing for these past months that he can’t- he can’t think of anything truly helpful to say and he can’t think about logical, rational ways to move forward with this information.

 

All he can do is turn himself a little more so he’s facing Jason, really facing him and gasp out, “Really?”

 

Jason swallows hard and nods, “Yeah, man. And I don’t know what to do.” He looks hopelessly lost and afraid. It’s amazing how much younger an expression of vulnerability makes him look.

 

Very slowly, Red reaches forward and puts a light hand on Jason’s shoulder, and grips him ever so slightly. His hand is mostly on the fabric of his shirt, but his thumb comes to rest on the soft flesh of Jason’s collarbone, and even that miniscule little bit of skin-to-skin contact makes something twist in Red’s belly.  

 

He can feel Jason jump under his touch at first, but in a moment he settles though, glancing briefly at Red’s hand and then back at his face again.

 

There’s terror in his expression, real terror, but also...hope? Want? Yes. _Want._ It’s there. It’s really fucking there. _Want._

 

Red wonders how long it’s been hiding there, and if he’s really just been completely fucking blind but- no...no he’s generally pretty good at reading people. If he hasn’t seen it, hasn’t even considered it before, it’s because Jason’s kept it buried _deep_.

 

That level of repression and every awful thing Jason’s ever said about queer people ought to make Red wary, cautious, probably ought to make him _run for the fucking hills_ but... but he _wants_ this. He wants it so bad, and he never fucking dreamed that any part of Jason could want it too.

 

“Maybe,” Red says quietly, just above a whisper, leaning a little closer. “Maybe we could start with something like this?”  He can see that Jason’s breathing hard. He sees his eyes flicker from Red’s eyes to his lips and back again. It’s terrifying, being here on the edge of a moment he never dared to imagine happening. It’s terrifying knowing that if he does it, there’s no going back. Terrifying.

 

 _Do it,_ a voice says, insistent, firm, so much stronger than any of his fears. _There’s nothing in the world you want more. Do it._

 

And he does. He leans in, all the way, and presses his lips to Jason’s in a soft kiss.

 

It’s only lasts a few seconds, he makes sure of that, but the moment their lips meet, it’s like a broken world is suddenly whole. Almost at once Red feels himself in danger of completely fucking melting into it, of losing control when he’s barely started, because it’s a thing he’s wanted so badly for so long. Jason’s lips are sweet and soft and everything he’s wanted for so fucking long, but Red makes himself pull away, makes himself pull back so he can look at Jason and gage his reaction.

 

Jason looks stunned.

 

His mouth is hanging slightly open, and he still looks pretty fucking terrified but there’s this _light_ in his eyes that sends a pleasurable twist right through to Red’s body, a twist that warms him, that gives him a surge of hope.

 

“So, do you- does that mean...do you like me, too?” Jason asks, voice somewhat strangled, twisting his hands in his lap and not quite meeting Red’s eyes. “Because I know you’ve got...you’ve got _Alan_ and everything and just because you’re... y’know...I know it doesn’t automatically mean you-”

 

He doesn’t finish, because Red takes Jason’s face in his hands and immediately cuts him off with another kiss, deeper, hungrier, more insistent.

 

That first kiss was so short it seems Jason was too paralyzed to even react before Red ended it, but Jason _definitely_ responds to this one- with gusto if not an excessive amount of grace, his hands coming up to grip at Red’s back, pressing his mouth hard against Red’s. He’s a little clumsy, a little overzealous and Red knows for certain that it has to have been a really, really long time since Jason’s even kissed anybody, but he doesn’t care.

 

He doesn’t care even a little bit. It feels like coming to an oasis after a thousand days in the desert. Nothing has ever felt so right.

 

Red goes into that second kiss with the intention of it being deep, now that he knows Jason isn’t going to deck him in the face for it, but he didn’t quite guess what a clash of raw desperation there would be on both their parts.

 

He kisses Jason back hard, a hand on either side of his face, fingertips in his hair, leading the way, opening up to him, showing Jason that he can open up to. As they do, Red is dizzy, spiraling, _melting_ as pours all his pent up desire and longing and- _love_ into it, this thing he’s wanted for so fucking long and never, ever dreamed could ever be a reality.

 

_Fuck._

 

That’s the truth of it, he realizes as Jason gasps into his mouth, tightly gripping the back of Red’s t-shirt in a fist.

 

He _loves_ him.

 

He’s just been trying so hard not to think of it like that, to think of it as a stupid, inconsequential crush, because he knew admitting it, even only to himself would only lead to heartache. But with Jason’s lips on his, there’s no brushing that feeling under the rug. The veil’s been lifted and there’s no denying it now that he’s felt Jason’s mouth against his.

 

He loves him.

 

He’s never loved anyone, never loved anyone quite like this. He loved his mom and his grandad and he loves his sister, obviously, but he’s never loved anyone like _this,_ in a way that feels too powerful to stay inside him, feels like it’ll just make him burst apart into a thousand pieces, leaving a massive crater in his wake.

 

Kissing Jason isn’t like kissing anyone else he’s ever kissed. Red holds his face in his hands, and he kisses him like he’ll die if he stops, or even thinks about stopping, and Jason’s _right there with him,_ meeting him with blatant, desperate need _._

 

As Red kisses him deep, Jason’s hands continue to roam around his back, to fist the fabric of Red’s t-shirt, gripping it and pulling him closer, like he can’t get enough. Ravenous. Red kisses harder, giving what he’s asking for and then Jason fucking _groans_ into Red’s mouth as they twist and shift their bodies so their chests press hard into each other.

 

The sound of that groan, of Jason Dixon being so fucking into what’s happening that he can’t keep quiet, that sound sends a jolt of arousal straight to Red’s already hardening cock.

 

 _I did that. I made him make_ that _sound._ It’s fucking mind-blowing, and it’s not just one groan but more noises that follow as Red’s tongue starts to delve into his open mouth, soft gasps and sighs of pleasure that Jason either can’t seem to contain or doesn’t want to.

 

Pressing his mouth hard against Jason’s, opening it, starting to explore, Red’s hands start to roam too, down from where they’re cupping Jason’s face, roaming across this body he’s now allowed to touch. One comes to rest on top of Jason’s thigh and he squeezes the muscular flesh there, while the other loops round to his back, tugging him just a bit closer.

 

“ _Fuck,”_ Jason groans against his lips, and Red feels the sharp, pleasurable bite of Jason’s teeth against his lower lip.

 

 _Fuck, indeed._ His head is spinning.

 

He really isn’t giving himself adequate time to breathe. Or even think. He wants to keep going, keep devouring Jason, pouring everything he’s felt for so long into his kisses. He wants to rip that t-shirt off him, and press his hands against bare, masculine chest, to spread his kisses down Jason’s neck and across his pecs and further still.

 

But after a much, much longer second kiss, Red forces himself to pull himself back again, and when he does, they’re both gasping for air.

 

Red loosens his hold on Jason’s back, but keeps the hand resting on his thigh where it is. For a few seconds, all they can do is pant, staring at each other. Jason’s breathing even harder than he is, and his eyes are wide, still stunned but the dark of his pupils and the way his eyes are fixed on Red’s mouth make it clear that he’s feeling exactly the same way about all of this as Red is.

 

“ _Fuck,”_ Jason breathes again and Red can only nod in agreement.

 

“Yeah. I know.” Red’s already so fucking hard and not kissing Jason right now is just painful. His cock is straining against his boxers, making them damp, crying out for touch. He bites his lip, trying to have a little restraint, a little patience, even though all he wants to do is just make their bodies connect like he needs them to.

 

Swallowing hard, he gently brushes the hand on Jason’s thigh over it a bit, his thumb pressing into Jason’s groin through the thin cotton of his pajama bottoms, getting a little closer to the cock he longs for. The large and obvious tenting happening at the front of the fucking ridiculous pajamas suggest Jason’s need is as strong as his, but this is new- it’s new for him and obviously completely fucking new for Jason, so he makes himself asks, “Can I keep doing that, Jace? Is all this okay?”

 

He moves his hand so more of it is on the inside of Jason’s thigh, but then freezes, looks him deep in the eyes and waits. Jason still has some obvious signs of fear in his eyes, but they seem to be highly overpowered by raw desire.

 

“Please,” Jason says after staring for a long moment. He gives a furtive nod and he reaches out for Red’s shirt and pulls him back in again, this time being the one to make their lips meet. “Yes,” he says against Red’s mouth. “ _Please._ ”

 

They kiss again, and this time Red spends a little time at Jason’s mouth, but then he starts trailing his kisses down a bit, down to the line of Jason’s jaw, down across his throat, lingering on his Adam’s apple, just kissing it and feeling it move under his mouth as Jason gasps. When Red reaches the nape of his neck, his hands planted on Jason’s waist, he gives an experimental nibble. Jason groans again, his hips jerking up, and Red moans back, his cock leaking with need.

 

He’s always likes to take things slow when he can, to really take his time enjoying the little things before building up to anything more, but the weight of his feelings for Red, the depths of his desire are making him too urgent. He knows for Jason, who has never done anything like this, who hasn’t been touched by anyone in so long, things must be more or less them same.

 

“Can we...stand up?” he asks, pulling his mouth away from Jason’s neck reluctantly. “Get- get some of this off?” He gestures at Jason’s t-shirt and he nods, and they both get to their feet.

 

Red reaches out for the hem of Jason’s shirt and manages to pull it off swiftly, exposing that torso he saw for the first time earlier today, forbidden to touch except for the bits he had to in order to help his friend. He feels another dizzy rush as he looks him down and realizes it’s not off limits anymore, that it’ll be his to kiss and touch and explore.

 

Red wants his shirt off too, wants it bad, wants to feel his skin flush against Jason’s, but he also can’t handle the lack of contact as it is, so he lunges in for another kiss, leaning down and tilting his head to meet him just right. Jason reaches a hand up and slides it across the back of Red’s neck as Red kisses him and _damn,_ but that one was _good,_ like classic romance movie good _._ Jason’s really finding his stride now, refining his technique, going from clumsy high school freshman to...something way better real quick.

 

Red can’t resist stepping forward into Jason’s space as they kiss, pressing the length of his body into him, pressing his aching erection against Jason’s. The moment they press together it sets off fireworks in his brain.

 

Jason is _hard._ He knew that, he saw it before, but it’s still almost too much for him to handle. Jason Dixon rock hard, _for Red._ Their cocks are pressed against one another, a rush of hot friction. Red’s erection seems to have found its own way out of his boxers, the glistening head of it poking through, pressing up against Jason. Right now, it’s only the thin cotton of Jason’s pajama bottoms and Red can feel the shape of it against his, and clearly as intense as it is for him, for Jason the feel of another cock against his is an entirely new sensation one that makes him let out a high moan the moment they touch, a strangled, needy noise. The moment they touch, Jason fucking bucks up against him, thrusts them together harder and the lack of control on display has Red weak in the knees

 

 _God,_ he fucking _loves_ that Jason is reacting to him like this.

 

He needs more. He fucking needs more of it. He continues kissing him, but slides a hand down between them and just presses his palm against Jason’s cock, giving it the briefest squeeze as he does, and Jason jerks again and breaks their kiss, his head sinking against Red’s shoulder, his weight sagging into Red and he _bites._ Red’s always been more than okay with a bit of that, and the fact that Jason seems powerless to even _control_ his reaction turns him on even more.

 

Red moves the hand between them, finds the opening in the front of Jason’s goddamn stupid adorable pajamas and grips Jason properly, bare hand against bare cock. He only manages a single stroke when Jason’s two hands come up to slap into each of Red’s shoulders, coming to rest there hard.

 

Red jumps back a bit, let’s go and looks at Jason in immediate concern. “Are you okay?” he asks, startled by the reaction and Jason’s wide, panicked eyes.

 

Jason is still gasping like he’s just crossed the finish line of fucking marathon, but he seems to relax a little as he nods. “Yeah- yeah I’m- it’s just- _fuck._ It’s a lot. It’s so good, Red. It’s just...a _lot_.”

 

Red nods in understanding. Of course. He wonders when the last time anyone else’s hand has touched Jason like that besides his own, and he may not have a specific answer, but he knows it’s been a long time.

 

“I know,” he says soothingly, and steps forward and just kind of hugs Jason, rests his chin on his  shoulder and stands pressed against him, one arm around his back, rubbing him comfortingly. “I know. For me too.”

 

And it’s true.

 

He may not be as touch-starved or pent up, but Red hasn’t ever fooled around with someone he’s felt this way about before and it’s getting hot and heavy quick. He’s happy to just take a moment, and Jason seems to be too. He hugs Red back, one-armed as well, mouth pressed against Red’s shoulder and they just stand there for a long moment, until their breathing slows down a little, even starts to sync up.

 

Once they’ve both taken a short breather, maybe averted the chance of them just spilling their loads right then and there, Red steps back a bit and pulls off his own shirt, tossing it aside.

 

He needs to feel his skin against Jason’s, Jason’s skin against his. Even with the short breather, he knows probably won’t last very long for either of them, the nature of what it is between them, but that’s okay. He just needs him now. He really does. He needs him so bad it physically hurts.

 

When he takes off his shirt, Jason stares at him. Red’s never been all that fond of his own body. He keeps fit, to an okay degree, but he’s always felt he was a little too lanky, a little too lean, a bit of a beanpole.

 

The way Jason’s looking at him now, though suggests he doesn’t have any of the same misgivings. He seems to be drinking in the sight of him, and Red watches Jason’s expression as he looks at him. There’s fear there still, and hesitation, but he reaches out for Red slowly and places his palm flat against Red’s chest, right over his heart. For a moment, he just leaves it there, seeming almost in awe.

 

There’s something deeply, achingly erotic about it, about knowing this is the first time Jason’s ever allowed himself to put his hand to man’s chest like this, maybe the first time he’s ever allowed himself to admit that he’s attracted to the male form like this, because he clearly is deeply, deeply attracted, his pupils darkly dilated as he drinks Red in. After a long moment, Jason’s thumb moves a bit, and happens to graze across Red’s nipple as it does, and he lets out a gasp of his own. He’s always been fairly reactive there, and the fact that it’s fucking _Jason_ is making every sensation all the more heightened.

 

Jason notices the reaction, and gives him a shy, lopsided little smile. “You like that?” he asks, voice low and scratchy, and fuck yes, Red likes it, and even more so, he likes Jason asking him that fucking question with a goddamn mischievous, coy fucking smile on his face.

 

“Mmm,” is all he can say in confirmation, and Jason does it again, a slow, deliberate brush of his thumb across Red’s nipple, and God, it takes everything he has not to just put his hand right on his own aching cock right then and bring himself off.

 

After taking a moment to enjoy Red’s reaction, Jason leans in a little closer, places a quick kiss to his upper pec, and then moves down, placing his mouth over Red’s pebbled nipple, making him gasp, making his hips jerk, and when Red feels that flick of tongue, his hand shoots up to grip Jason’s hair and he groans. A moment later, Jason pulls back and looks at Red in the eyes again, expression pleased and curious and a little smug.

 

That’s it.

 

Red can’t hold back anymore. He comes in for another kiss, but as he does, his hands move to the waistband of Jason’s pajamas and he gives them a firm tug down, gets them at least to his knees, then relieves himself of his own boxers and _holy hell,_ rolls his hips forward until their bare cocks meet, and it’s _electric._ At first, he’s too busy still kissing him, kissing his mouth and chin and jaw to look, but he can _feel_ it, the smooth, slick shaft against his own as they move and gasp together, and it’s good, it feels so _fucking good._

 

Jason seems to be coming undone by it all quick. After just a few moments of their erections gliding against one another, Jason has to stop kissing Red back, and just throws his head back and gasps, revealing his throat and throbbing Adam’s apple, and Red does look down then, at his beautiful nude body, his swelling chest, that trail of belly hair that leads down to his leaking cock, standing hard, the weeping mushroom head pressed against Red’s own.

 

It’s not quite as long as Red’s but there’s a nice girth to it, a prominent visible vein that’s pleasing to the eye and to pretty much every other part of him too. Red has to reach down and touch it againt, softly gripping Jason near the head and running his thumb along the frenulum.

 

Jason cries out the moment he does, fingernails digging hard into Red’s back, his hips thrusting forward, jerking into Red’s fist. “ _Fuck,”_ he breathes out, thin and wavery, sagging forward to rest his forehead against Red’s shoulder, gasping for breath as Red takes both their cocks is his hand and starts to stroke them together.  
  
“Fuck, Red,” Jason moans as Red pumps their cocks together. “I didn’t know it would feel like this,” he says, head still resting against Red’s shoulder, sounding dazed and dizzy, powerless. Red smiles, kisses the top of his head and continues to frot their lengths together, his own eyes rolling back in his head with the pleasure of it all.

 

After another minute or so of stroking, Jason takes a half step back, puts one hand up to Red’s shoulder and giving him a slight push, while the other hand clenches in a fist that he bites down on.

 

“You okay, Jace?” he asks softly, his own hand coming to rest flat on the one Jason’s got on his chest.

 

He nods wordlessly at first, then takes his hand away from his mouth, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just… _a lot._ I’m not sure- I’m not sure how much longer I can last…”

 

He looks worried, embarrassed, but Red instantly breaks into a warm, bright smile at that, steps forward and presses his cheek against Jason’s, hand moving to stroke through his hair.

 

“That’s okay, man,” he whispers. “Same, honestly. It’s okay. Whatever happens is okay.” He can’t stop the wide, affectionate grin over how endearing Jason’s worrying is.

 

“Come here,” he says, quietly, wrapping a hand around Jason’s forearm and guiding him to the bed. They’re both pretty close to the edge, but he wants them to have a chance to lie here together a bit before they come, he wants the chance to really move together, their bodies tangled up like vines.

 

Kissing Jason again, he gets him to sit on the mattress, continues to kiss until he’s lying on his back, head on a pillow. So ready, Red starts to climb on top, trailing kisses away from his mouth and back down to that spot on his neck that seems to make Jason shudder, but he feels Jason’s hand come up to his shoulder and grip him in a way that doesn’t seem like a good thing, that seems to be almost a push, though it’s not a very strong one.

 

Quickly, Red pulls his mouth away from Jason’s neck and looks down at him. As he does, he sees pure panic there.

 

“Hey,” he says softly, putting a hand to Jason’s face, his thumb brushing across his cheek. “Jace. You okay?”

 

Jason bites his lip for a moment, looking up at him in fear.

 

“Red, are you-” Jason stammers, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Are you gonna try to...um, put it- you know...”

 

When Red finally understands the question his totally inexperienced and clueless friend is trying to ask, he scrambles to ease those fears as fast as he can, “Oh, no, Jace. No, no, no. I’m not.  just- I just want us to move together. Just like we have been, just like when we were standing. I promise.”

 

He’s holding himself up at a bit of a distance now, trying to make sure Jason feels safe, and even though he feels like he might die if their cocks don’t start touching again, he swallows hard and forces himself to focus, to be patient, to wait. Holding himself up with one hand, he uses the other to gently caress Jason’s face, still trying to put him at ease. “Is that okay? Just like we have been, only lying down.”

 

“Yeah,” Jason gasps. “Yeah, that sounds good. Real good. Please. Let’s do that.” He looks sure now, the panic gone, replaced with trust and desire, and Red feels like just gazing down at the combination of those two emotions on Jason’s face are almost enough to make him spill then and there.

 

“Okay,” Red says, giving him a quick kiss. “And if you need to stop at any point, just let me know.”

 

He lowers himself back down then, moves so their legs tangle up together and their cocks slide together again and from that first nanosecond of contact Jason thrusts up against him and digs nails into his back.

 

“ _Uungh_ ,” he groans, biting Red’s shoulder again. “Please don’t fucking stop, Red. Don’t. Not ever,” he gasps out when he’s done sinking his teeth into Red’s skin, and those eager, pleading words send Red ever closer to the edge.

 

He knows it won’t last long now, the way they’re bucking together now, the way they're entwined so fucking intimately, slick and sweaty, so much skin against so much skin.

 

He slips a hand down between them and continues to pump them together, kissing him when he can, though Jason can only seem to manage that in spurts. He keeps having to break away, to throw his head back and lay there and gasp, and when he does Red nuzzles and sucks at his throat instead, and Jason’s hands dig into his back and hair, and he’s on another fucking _plane_ because it’s so good, it’s so good having Jason coming undone beneath him as their slick bodies connect, so good to hear his desperate, ragged gasps and sighs, to feel the frantic bucking of his hips up into Red’s. So much of his skin is flush with Jason’s, from their heads down to toes at the end of legs tangled up together and every last cell of Red’s skin is crackling with fiery, electric heat.

 

“ _Red,”_ Jason gasps at last, with the kind of urgency that hasn’t been there yet, bucking and jerking up into his hand without inhibition. "Red,  _please._ I'm going to...I need to-" 

 

"I know," he says, caressing Red's cheek with the hand that isn't working their cocks. "It's okay. Come. Come for me, Jace," he urges. 

Whatever it was making Jason feel the need to hold back, Red's words seem to give him the permission he needs to let go. Red's been kissing him madly, all over his mouth and throat and any bit of skin he can get to, but he stops that now, pulls back so he can  _watch._

He needs to see it, needs to see Jason come apart beneath him, and he _does._ Red looks down to see that dripping cock pressed against his own, both of them held together in Red’s pumping fist and as he gives the last few strokes needed to make Jason spill, he watches thick, sticky ropes of white spilling up across Jason’s belly as he bucks up into Red’s hand, his chest heaving as he cries out in a flurry of delirious, ecstatic sounds, and somewhere in the mix is Red's name on his gasping lips, and it's heaven. It's just fucking heaven. 

 

 _I did that,_ Red thinks as he watches the sight unfold beneath him, this beautiful fucking sight he’s tried so hard to never imagine, but never even for one fraction of a second imagined could ever be real. The glorious, beautiful impossibility of it is enough to make Red follow right after, that coiled up tension in his balls needing to fucking _leave._

 

While the final sticky white spurts of come drip out of Jason, Red’s release happens too, powerful, earth-shattering. He finds himself shuddering, weakening, falling against Jason’s slick, hot body as he spills across Jason’s already slickened torso, Red’s brain and belly and chest feeling just as explosive as the orgasm that rips out of him and then it’s _done_ , and they both lie there, gasping and panting and just trying to get a hold of their own breathing.

 

When he can, Red slips off to the side a bit so he’s not crushing Jason with his weight, but still has an arm draped over his heaving chest. With the other, he gropes around for his toiletry bag on the bedside table, and manages to pull out a thing of wet wipes. Still gasping, he starts to move the cool, cloth across Jason’s belly, where the bulk of the sticky white mix of their seed ended up. Even that sensation seems to be almost too much for Jason and he whines and pants, and reaches out and digs his nails into Red’s bare thigh, eyes still shut tight.

 

“ _Damn,_ ” Jason breathes after a long while. “Damn.”

 

“I know,” Red says, kissing him just below the ear, his arm still draped over his chest. Then he pulls back a little, wanting to just look at him, to see him, to drink him in, to capture this moment and process that it’s fucking real. “I know.”

 

Jason finally opens his eyes and meets Red’s with awe. “I didn’t know it could be like that,” he says quietly. “I always kind thought maybe I was just... _bad_ at it or something, like I’m bad at English and school, because it never...never really seemed to…” he mutters, brow furrowed. “And I know...I know I didn’t really _do_ much just now, that it was really all you, but it just felt so…. _fuck,_ Red. So good,” he finishes, clearly unable to properly articulate his thoughts any better than that.

 

Red smiles affectionately and angles his head so he can give him another kiss, slow and soft and sweet. “I know. It was so good, Jace. _You_ were so good.”

 

Jason just shakes his head at him, looking completely incredulous, but _happy_. Content. Jason kisses him once more, briefly, but then shifts down so he’s kinda resting his head on Jason’s chest, an arm draped across him. He feels Jason shift too, so they fit together better, feels him press against him for more body contact. He hears Jason let out a soft sigh, clearly spent but clearly content.

 

Red has a thousand burning questions that flit through his mind, too fast and frenzied for him to grab hold of one for long. There’s that sleepiness that comes after climax he’s fighting too, and the warmth of another body pressed up against his own, but there are...there are _so_ many questions.

 

How long has Jason been feeling this way, really? Is it really something so recent, brought about by Red and their closeness, or is it something he’s been fighting all his life?

 

Has he always been like this, even when he was younger? How aware of it was he, as he went around the school building tossing the word fag around at every opportunity, at any kid who seemed a little quiet or shy or delicate? Was he actively trying to cast suspicion off himself, or was it more subconscious?

 

Red wants to know. And he wants to know the kinds of conversations Jason’s parents really had with him, back in the day, about what being gay meant, and how much of an effect that had on him and they way he felt about himself and everybody else.

 

And what did he mean just now, when he said he always thought he was _bad_ at it? What are his past experiences, what have they been like? Is that why he never seemed to have anything lasting with a woman? He couldn’t make it work, because he’s always had this repressed attraction to men?

 

And Red has questions about what’s next, too.

 

How will Jason want to proceed? Can he face being public about it, or will he beg Red to keep it a secret? How hard will that be, if that’s what he needs to do? Will Jason ever be willing to face his mother, and let her know what he really is and how he really feels? Will he ever let Red call him _‘boyfriend’_ or will all that internalized homophobia make it impossible for him to think of them like that?  

 

He has a thousand burning questions, but in the end he only really asks one.

 

“You okay, Jace?” he says, murmuring it quietly.

 

“Yeah,” Jason says back, voice soft and sleepy. “I’m okay.”

 

He shifts his body then, pressing his back into Red’s and they’re fully spooning, Red enveloping Jason fully, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Good,” he murmurs, running his hand absently up and down the flat of Jason’s torso. “Good.”

 

Sleepy, happy, he allows himself to sink into the warmth of it, to let the questions slip away. Jason’s lived a lonely life in the dark, hiding. He’s maybe never had the chance in all his years to fall asleep with someone’s arms around him like this, in the arms of someone he really wanted to be with. For now, that’s what Red decides to focus on. Being there for Jason, making him feel safe and wanted, so wanted. He focuses on that, on the way Jason’s breathing is starting to slow as he begins to drift away. Jason’s spent so many long nights of his life alone, but now he doesn’t have to, because Red is here to hold him and run fingers over his stomach and press kisses into his back until he falls asleep, and maybe beyond, if he can stay awake long enough.

 

He can’t. When he hears the slowing breathing get a little louder, shift into soft snores, he manages one more kiss to Jason’s shoulder blade before he allows himself to slip away too.

 

\--

 

When he wakes up feeling an instant, complete sense of happiness, it takes his brain a moment to remember why, and when the events of the night before flash back through his mind, he feels an incredible warmth. His morning wood feels it too, and he cracks open his eyes, wondering if they might-

 

Oh.

 

Jason’s not there.

 

He feels a quick twinge of fear, but instantly casts it aside. Jason can be an early riser, sometimes. He might even just be in the bathroom.

When he gets up to use the bathroom himself and finds it empty, Red makes the decision not to panic.

 

When he gets to the kitchen, and it’s also empty, and there’s no smell of coffee or bacon in the air, he still makes the decision not to panic.

 

When he takes his own coffee out onto the porch, and doesn’t see Jason chopping wood or getting a start on some of his many chores, he still decides not to panic.

  
But as the day wears on and Jason is nowhere to be found, he realizes that decision was a mistake born of naivety and hope, and Red starts to feel nervous, then foolish and sick with dread, and then simply _terrified,_ because Jason is very clearly _gone._

_Completely gone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ERMAGERDDDDDDDD. 
> 
> The slow burn finally got HERE. I hope you enjoyed the payoff while it lasted <3 
> 
> Of course, then I had to go and do something completely evil, and I'm sorry for that, but also.. sorry not sorry? 
> 
> Because I know you guys love the angst of it as much as I do, right? It's all part of the journey.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

When it becomes clear Jason hasn’t just gone on a short walk, when it becomes impossible to make any further excuses to soothe his rising panic, Red stops trying. He lets himself feel every bit of fear and worry and doubt, lets himself shake and sweat with the terror of it all.

 

At first, the thoughts are a little tamer, flowing along the lines of _fuck. He regrets it. He realized it was a mistake, and he hates himself and he hates me and it’s all over. He doesn’t want to be fucking gay, he’s spent his whole life doing every possible thing he could not to be, to make sure no one would ever think he is, and one night is not going to change that. It’s over. It’s over. I had a taste of something that felt so goddamn real and right and utterly perfect, but that’s it. It’s done. We crossed a line we can’t uncross, and it’s done, and we can't even go back to being friends, because Jason can’t handle it, he can’t handle who he is, he’s been fed too much hate his whole fucking life, he can’t face it, and he ran-_

 

But ran _where?_

 

Red _drove._

 

Red fucking drove here, and they’re like a mile or more from the nearest house, the cabin’s off a dirt road no one else even drives down. Even if Jason’s drowning in regret, in disgust over what they did, even if he doesn’t wanna look Red in the eyes ever, ever again, Red is still his ride home! He has to come back sometime. 

 

_Where is he?_

 

When it gets to be noon and he still hasn’t fucking heard from him, the thoughts shift again, going in a darker direction.

 

_What if it’s worse than I thought?_

 

_What if he got up in the middle of the night, still fucking buzzed, and ran off into the fucking woods or something, and broke his ankle? What if he’s hurt somewhere, or lost and can’t find his way back?_

 

And darker still comes the thought, _what if he fucking hurt himself on_ purpose? _What if something in him snapped, because he hates what he is that much, because he’s so repulsed by what we did, because he’s acted on the things he’s spent a lifetime repressing? What if he went into the fucking lake, or off a fucking cliff, or something else?_

 

_No, no, he wouldn’t do that!_

 

 _He wouldn’t. But what if he_ did _, and it’s Red’s fucking fault? Because he wanted it so bad, needed it so bad that he didn’t stop to ask all those questions that plagued his mind last night, because he was just so wrapped up in the bliss of being able to hold and touch and kiss the person he’d wanted for so long that he didn't want to ruin it with questions he should have asked?_

 

 _He should have waited. He should have asked questions first. If Jason's hurt, he bears some of that responsibility,_  and the thought makes him ill with worry.

 

_Jason wasn’t that drunk, but maybe- maybe Red should have waited til he was completely sober, to even think about going down that road. Jason had spent twenty fucking years calling him a fag at every opportunity, talking about how there’s fucking places in the world where people are killed for being gay, talking about Red like he was some kind of fucking pervert, when he never knew a single thing about him…. What if he really couldn’t fucking handle it, and snapped, and did something awful?_

 

The fear manifests as physical pain in his chest, and Red practically has a panic attack as he thinks of the possible ways Jason might be hurt, either accidentally or intentionally, and how this property is a billion fucking acres or something, and there’s no way he’ll be able to find him if he is.

 

He tries, of course. He walks all around the areas close to the house, that walking trail down to the lake, goes a bit of a ways down the road to see if there’s any sign of him, calls his name, _screaming it_  as loud as he can but the only responses he gets are from chittering fucking birds and angry squirrels.

 

He checks his phone a million times, but of course there’s no reception out here. By one PM, he can’t take it anymore, and gets in the car and drives ten minutes down the road and parks under a telephone pole where Jason told him you can get a bar of service if you hold your phone right.

 

His hands shaking, he pulls out his phone and calls. It rings six times before going to voicemail.

 

If it’s ringing, that’s a good thing, he thinks, because that means it’s not at the bottom of the fucking lake or something. In fact, he’s gotta be somewhere with service. Which- makes Red confused, and a little angry, but he fights that back, because what if there is some...if there’s some kind of reasonable explanation? What if...what if there was something with his mom? Or something unrelated? Work…? He’s grasping at straws, desperate for this not to mean what he knows it must mean.

 

Red opens up his text messages, his eyes flickering over their last message, Jason asking him what kinda beer he should pick up for the trip, and Red bites his lip hard, hands still shaking as he types out, _If you’re alive, now would be a nice time to let me know,_ and hits send _._

 

His heart is hammering in his chest, and he thinks about what the hell he’s supposed to do if he doesn’t get a response, if he really does need to call someone, to treat it like an emergency, and what the fuck is he even supposed to say? 911, what’s your emergency? _Uh, it could be nothing, ma’am, but last night I impulsively decided to go dick-to-dick with the most homophobic person I’ve ever met after he expressed homosexual desire, but now there’s a chance he might have had a meltdown in the middle of the nowhere and might very possibly be seriously injured or dead because of gay panic? Not sure though._

 

As his hysterical thoughts run through his head, a vibration in his hands makes Red jump in his seat. His eyes dart down and he reads words that make his stomach twist.

 

_Sorry, man. I just needed to head back to town on my own. Sorry._

 

As soon as he reads it, the phone slips out of his hand and crashes to the floor, down by the pedals. 

 

There’s relief. There _is_ relief that Jason’s not fucking hurt or dead, but once his brain processes that for a second, it’s instantly overpowered by a sharp, agonizing stab of betrayal.

 

_So he left, then._

 

He just fucking left. He took off, without a goddamn fucking word, to leave Red feeling abandoned and paralyzed with fear, left him to wonder and wonder and wonder for hours?

 

It hurts. It hurts so fucking bad. The waves of emotion threaten to overwhelm him, and he has to bite down on his own fist just to try to keep some of it in. He’s panting hard and his stomach _hurts._

 

_He just left._

 

Obviously, Jason must have been consumed with regret and panic, with disgust and self-loathing, he must have felt horrified and repulsed by what they’d done, and had to get away, but to just fucking _leave?_

 

What, to hitchhike his way back, leaving Red to wonder, not leaving a fucking note or anything? Did he even think about it, about Red, for one fucking second? And he didn’t even pick up his fucking call?

 

Red feels a wave of nausea run through him, but he fights it down, and gropes around by his feet until he finds his phone.

 

He knows it’s passive aggressive as fuck, but considering all the wounded, angry feelings coursing through him, all the things he wants to yell and scream and ask, considering the painful lump in his throat and the sick feeling in his stomach, he thinks all things considered the message he sends isn’t all that bad.

 

 _I really appreciated the note you left explaining as much._ He hits send before he can lose his nerve, then switches the car out of neutral and drives away from the telephone pole, losing reception again.

 

He goes back to the cabin, packs up his shit, and locks up, sticking the key under a planter on the porch.

 

He does it all stiffly, almost robotically. He turns off his feelings in a way he’s never quite been able to do before, keeping his lips tight, his focus on the tasks at hand. _Put the clothes in the bag. Put on your shoes. Close all the windows. Clean out the fridge. Turn off the lights. Lock the door._

 

He has to do it that way. He has to keep his focus and get the hell away from the place as soon as possible. He has to get away from this place full of memories. It’s a battle, but he keeps it together. He gets it all done, stoic and robotic.

 

But when the cars all packed up and he pulls out onto the dirt road to leave, he can’t fucking resist looking back, at this little cabin where his heart has felt so fucking much. A place where he’s felt happier and more content than he’s been anywhere else in the world, ever. Where he fished and didn’t hate it, because Jason loved it, and Jason put his arms around Red. Where he got to listen to Jason’s soothing, deep voice singing songs at the fire, where he got to see his face light up with such real, genuine joy because Red scribbled out a few comic book characters that had always just lived inside his head. Where he felt real love coursing through him, billowing out of him, coming out in soft kisses and touches and caresses as he connected physically with the only person he’s ever really connected with emotionally.

 

But it’s also the place where he’s felt the greatest fucking heartbreak of his life. Red squashed the truth of it down as he packed up, managed to ignore the pain some, but with that glance back, it claws its way to the surface and he can’t ignore the reality.

 

Red feels it then, sitting in his car alone, feels it all. The devastating, heart wrenching, all-consuming ache. He can’t keep it up. He can’t keep up the robot act. He can’t pretend it’s not ripping him apart from the inside.

 

He can’t fucking drive.

He shifts gears back into park, lets his head sag against the steering wheel, and he cries.

At first it’s just a few stinging tears that leak out, even when he shuts his eyes and mouth tight, trying to hold it back, but he can’t, and they evolve into angry, shaking sobs. Anger at himself. Anger at Jason. He can’t keep it in.

 

 _He doesn’t fucking care._ Jason. He doesn’t fucking care. He just left. He doesn’t care.

 

Red was a fucking naive fool to let himself fall asleep thinking the morning would be a brand new day.

 

A day to wake up with Jason still in his arms, to give him a sleepy kiss as they lay beneath the blankets, to do more of what they’d done the night before, hot, slick bodies moving together, desperate mouths finding each other. He was a fool to think he’d make breakfast and ask Jason some of those questions that were on his mind last night, and that they might actually discuss their next steps, maybe even map out what their future might look like.

 

What a fucking idiot he is. Mapping out a future? There's no fucking future.

  
  
Jason Dixon has hid from who he is for thirty plus years, hid from it with cruelty and aggression and hate. Red was a more than a fool to think it’d just...go away. That it would be easy, or at least be a challenge they’d get through together.

 

He wishes they hadn’t done it.

 

God, he wishes so hard he hadn’t given in to the desperate need of his own heart, hadn’t kissed him, hadn’t done everything else that came after. It had felt so fucking perfect, like nothing in his life ever had before. But now he’s never going to know that feeling again. Not with Jason. And he can’t conceive of being able to find it with anyone else in the world either. So that's it. He knows the feeling and now it's gone forever.

It’s a fucking act of divine cruelty, honestly. To know the actual best feeling in the world, for just a few precious hours, and then to never, ever have it again. He just knows everything in his life from now on is going to be muted, and dull and empty, and that hurts. It hurts so bad. He’s just going to be numb forever, after this.

Completely numb.

 

Red doesn’t know how long it takes him to get it together enough to drive, but it’s definitely a while. When he’s ready though, he’s able to go back that numbness, that numbness he thinks is going to be the armor he wears now, in order to survive. He’s able to turn on the ignition, flick on the radio to NPR and drive away feeling almost nothing at all.

 

After about twenty minutes of driving, when he’s back where there’s consistent reception, his phone lights up, and he sees a message come in but he ignores it and keeps driving.

 

After about an hour and a half, he stops for gas, and then he does look.

 

It’s from Jason. _I didn’t think about what I was doing until it was already too late. I really am sorry, man. Are you okay?_

 

No. No I’m fucking not okay, he thinks, but shakes his head, pays for his gas, and buys a shitty cup of coffee.

 

Before he drives off though, he does sit in the parking lot for a moment to reply. _I locked up. Left the key under the planter on right side of the porch._

 

He drives on, and a few minutes later, another text comes in but he doesn’t look at that one until he’s back in his own driveway.

 

_Thanks for doing that. Red, I know it was a dick move. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Are you back in Ebbing? Can we talk?_

 

Red doesn’t reply.

 

He stuffs his phone in his pocket, numbly. Unpacks the car. Numbly. Opens his front door, drops his duffle bag by the coat stand and stumbles off to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth, numbly, trying not to look at his reflection and how squinty-eyed he is from all the fucking crying. 

He throws himself on his bed without even bothering to undress and goes to sleep.

\---

 

He doesn’t reply to any of them, and there are a lot.

 

Two a day, sometimes three, though Red knows there’s obviously some effort on Jason’s part to restrain himself from sending more.

 

_Red, I really need to talk to you._

 

_I know I fucked up, but please don’t shut me out._

 

 _I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry._ Each day, at least one of them says that, but Red never replies. He tries not to look, usually doesn’t until right before bed.

 

_Come to the bar, Red. Or let me come over there. Let me try to explain._

 

No. No, he’s not going to let him try to explain.

 

It’s like the fucking faggot comment all over again, only so much worse, and Red’s done. He’s done feeling this hurt. He feels it every moment of every day right now, but he doesn’t want to. He works so hard at keeping hold of that numb feeling that dulls the hurt, but the  constant influx of fucking texts don’t let him.

Even if he doesn’t look, even if he refuses to read them, he still knows they’re there.

 

He needs the hurt to go away. And it won’t, not unless he completely cuts their ties and moves on with his life. Jason might take a while to get it, but eventually he has to. Red can’t do this. Can’t engage, not even a little.

 

It was really hard to learn to love himself, growing up as he did, being who he was and living in this shitty, backwards town, but he figured it out. He got there, eventually, to a place where he can feel that way about himself. It’s something he still has to work at, all the time, but he’s made it there. He knows he’s worthy of love, even if the chances of finding it are slim and he knows he has a right to protect himself from hurt and pain.

 

He doesn’t want an explanation. He just wants to be left alone. To move forward, to see if he can bring his life back to what it was before Jason edged his way in.

 

Jason doesn’t quit though, either doesn’t get the hint in his silence, or doesn’t care. Every day for a week, the messages come.

 

_I fucked up._

 

_I shouldn’t have done that, I know how fucked up it was and I’m sorry._

_Red, please. Please. Just text me back. Or call. Or come by. Please._

 

_Please let me explain. Come to the bar._

 

By the time Friday night comes around, the silence of Red’s apartment becomes too much for him. He can’t do it anymore. He can’t let his fear of Jason turn him into a complete fucking hermit.

 

It’s his town too, and there’s only one bar worth a damn in the whole place, and he’s not going to just stay home.

 

He replies, for the first time since that Sunday when he mentioned the key.

 

_I might show up there tonight, but it’s not for you. Would appreciate some space if I do go._

 

There’s no reply to that.

 

When eight o’clock rolls round, Red starts to seriously regret even saying that much and feels a deep sense of dread about going.

 

He knows Jason.

He’s known him for a long time. Even before they were friends, it’s like Red’s had this fucking magnet inside him that’s made it impossible for Jason to stay away from him. Countless nights in that bar, Jason made a point, made a concerted effort, to walk past wherever Red happened to be, just to throw some nasty comment his way, maybe to ‘accidentally’  bump his shoulder and make him spill beer on himself, getting in his space, trying to make him feel low and ashamed for having the audacity to show his queer face in public. He's never been able to just leave him alone. 

 

And he won't be able to tonight.

 

He knows if he goes, Jason won’t be able to stay away.

 

But he can’t keep hiding. He’ll just have to make it clear that he’s not letting Jason and the hurt he brings be a part of his life anymore. He’ll look him in the eye, keep his voice steady and calm, and tell Jason to leave him alone, and make sure he knows that Red means it.

Maybe he'll get it. Maybe he'll go. Maybe Red will have a chance at someday feeling whole again. 

\---

 

The bar is packed, even at 8:30. Fridays are always packed. There’s a bachelorette party going on, a dozen scantily-clad twenty-somethings all wearing sashes and drinking colorful drinks. It’s a karaoke night, and people are setting up mics and equipment on the stage. Old couples and a few younger ones are twirling about on the dance floor to some old-fashioned country music.

 

And Jason’s there.

 

Even in the crowd, Red finds him almost at once, seated at their usual spot. Red walks in and goes for the far end of the bar, where there happens to be a stool free and takes a seat, hoping Jason might not even notice he's there.

 

Darlene eventually makes her way down to take his order and gives him a funny look. “Your pal Dixon’s down the other end, you know,” she says, nodding her head in his direction.

 

“Oh yeah?” Red says mildly. “Cool. Uh, I’ll take a Sam seasonal on tap, thanks.”

 

“He’s been looking pretty glum these days,” Darlene prods, and Red forces himself not to show any kind of reaction in his face. Practice for when he inevitably has to talk to Jason. _Cool as a fucking cucumber, Welby._ No emotion.

 

“That so?” he says, looking as purposefully uninterested as possible. “I know you’re busy tonight, Darlene. But I’m real thirsty. Trade you this for that beer ASAP?”

 

He hands her a ten dollar bill, way more than the drink is worth and she takes it, though she takes an extra few seconds to keep looking at him, a scrutinizing expression on her face. He looks away, fiddles with a napkin to avoid having to engage and eventually she comes back with his drink and gives it to him silently.

 

There’s a large, beefy biker seated next to Red, and he provides a lot of cover. Enough so that Red gets through his first beer and orders another before he’s found. The biker hasn’t left his seat, so when Jason ends up standing behind him, Red narrows his eyes over at Darlene, who seems real busy washing wine glasses all of a sudden. 

 

“Red,” Jason says quietly. “Hey.”

 

Red stiffens when he hears that voice so close, but slowly he turns around, keeping his expression stony. “I meant what I said earlier, Jason. I want space. Please.”

 

Jason gives him that pained, kicked-puppy, hurt-little-boy expression that he’s fucking perfected, but Red forces himself not to soften his own expression in any way.

 

“I know. I know,” he mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But Red, I’ve been _dying_ here. Dying to talk to you. Can’t we... we _need_ to talk about it.”

 

“Not sure what there is to talk about,” Red says, miraculously managing to keep his voice steady, to look Jason in the eye with a neutral expression. “Seems pretty straightforward. You woke up, couldn’t handle all your panic and regret and you ran off without taking half a second to consider what it might be like for me to wake up in the middle of nowhere without the slightest clue where you were. Don’t much feel like talking to someone who makes decisions that thoughtless. I’d prefer if you left me alone from now on,” Red says.

 

His voice may be steady but his hands are shaking and he keeps them clenched in fists under the bar so Jason won’t see. Jason, who looks so hurt and torn and worried at Red's stony account of what happened.

 

“I didn’t feel regret, Red,” Jason says quietly. “Not even a little bit. Not for a minute.”

 

 _Fuck you,_ Red wants to scream into his handsome, scarred, soft face. _Don’t try to tell me that. Don’t try to tell me you want this. I can’t. I won’t. I’m done. I’m done being hurt by you! It's not worth it. It's not worth the hurt you bring._

 

Instead, he manages a calm, “Don’t really care what you felt or didn’t feel. I care about what you did. What you did was shitty. And I’m done.”

 

Jason’s eyes are wide and fucking watery, and he shakes his head, looking helpless and afraid.

“No, Red. Don’t say that. Please don’t. I’m sorry. I’m really, really fucking sorry. I just- I freaked out. I freaked out, okay? I never regretted it, Red, but I _was_ scared. I was really fucking scared. Because I’ve never felt anything remotely like that, and I spent such a long time, such a long fucking time trying to never think about that side of myself, not even for a moment. But I couldn't stop myself from...from telling you. It just- it spilled right out of me and then we just- we _went_ for it, and it happened so fast, and it was _so good,_ but it was _a lot,_ Red. I just panicked,” he says, and he looks truly anguished.

 

Red doesn’t say anything. Jason gives him a pleading look, silently begging him to help him out, to respond, to offer _something,_ but Red doesn’t. He won’t.

 

“Look Red, it’s true. I didn’t want to be like this. All my life, I did every last fucking thing I could think of to convince myself I wasn’t like this. For a long time I done a pretty good job of it. But then you came along and we...we did what we did, and it was all just so _clear_. All at once. This _is_ who I am, Red. And it was so much to...to take in. I woke up and I got scared. I wasn’t thinking, or I was thinking _too much_ , maybe but I didn’t plan on doing that. I didn’t plan to head all the way out to the main road, but somehow I just...did and then this trucker came along and offered a ride and I just- I wasn’t thinking-”

 

“Okay,” Red says at last, interrupting the desperate rant, which makes Jason freeze mid-speech.

 

“' _Okay'_?” he asks softly, looking confused. “Okay, what?”

 

“You said you wanted to explain. You did. You were freaked out so you left. You’ve explained,” Red says, voice steady, taking a sip of his beer, forcing himself not to feel anything in response to the fear on Jason’s face.

 

“Yeah but...but do you _get_ it, Red? Do you get how sorry I am? I hid from this for like thirty years, Red. And it’s only really crawled its way up to the surface, to a place where I couldn’t hide from it anymore...so recently. It all happened so fast and I just...I needed a little time to get used to it but I think I-”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Red says, nodding. “You're right. It did happen too fast. That was part was my fault. It was a mistake to do what we did. But it’s done now-”

 

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Jason interrupts, reaching out fast to put his hand on Red’s wrist, but Red promptly snatches it away, moving out of reach and Jason let's his hand fall and just quietly says, “ _Please,_ Red. Don’t call it a mistake.”

 

His voice is low and pleading and Red’s stomach is twisted and knotted and aching as he looks at him, but he does every last thing he can to not let any of that show on his face.

 

“It wasn’t a mistake, Red,” Jason says, gazing at him with intense, earnest hazel eyes that are so fucking hard not to just drown in.  “It was the best thing that ever happened to me. Nothing has ever felt so _fucking right,_ Red, not in my whole life. I can’t believe I spent so much fucking time hiding from _that._ How much time I wasted, never feeling whole. It wasn’t a mistake.”

 

“It was,” Red says, even though his chest is swelling, his heart pounding. “It was. You’re just...too fucked up, man. You’ve hated what you are and what _I_ am for too fucking long. So look, Jason, if you’ve finally had an awakening and you’re ready to face who you are, I’m glad for you. I really am. No one should spend their whole life hiding who they are. But I already _went_ on this journey. It’s not a straightforward one, and it’s not easy, but I already went on mine and came out the other side. I can’t do it again with you. I can’t be collateral damage as you battle with all these fucking layers of self-loathing you’ve built up over so many fucking years.”

 

Jason is shaking his head, clearly struggling to process it all.

 

“What?” he asks, almost a plea.

 

“You’ve spent your whole life hating yourself. Hating _me_ because of who you didn’t want to be,” Red says, frustrated at how slow on the uptake is, how he’s making him spell it out so fucking clearly. “You’re a _mess,_ Jason, and I...I’m a person with fucking feelings and those feelings are being continually crushed as you go work through all your doubt and self-loathing. You hate what you are and you’re ashamed of it. I’m not. And that’s just...it’s not compatible, Jason. It has to end.”

 

“I don’t,” Jason says quietly. “I don’t hate what I am. I don’t. Look, Red. I’ll admit it’s hard. I’ve been _told_ to hate it all my life. I’ve told myself I should hate it for years and years. But I don’t! Not anymore. How can I hate it? How can I possibly hate it? How can I hate what I felt when I was with you? What I _always_ feel when I’m with you?”

 

 _God, he looks so fucking earnest and his voice is breaking with emotion. As stern and harsh as Red wants to be, he can’t pretend Jason isn’t being real right now._ He can feel himself growing weak as he is forced to acknowledge that Jason's feelings are still real and strong. That he doesn’t want it to end. He really did feel things as intensely as Red did that night, he really does _still_ feel all those things.

He doesn’t regret it. He wants _more_ of it.  
  
_God,_ the temptation is so fucking strong. To just reach out, and kiss him again, to feel those soft lips, to pull him out of this bar and take him home and feel the heat of his body and the press of his cock.

 

 _No._ **No.**

 

Jason’s still a fucking mess, whatever he might say. He’s not ready. He’s not going to be able to handle all the things that come with it, all the things people will say, all the comments these fucking hicks will throw at him, the fallout from his own damn mother, what the guys at the station will say, how everything will change and he'll spend every minute from here on out feeling raw and exposed and judged.

 

It’ll be too much and he’ll give up, and Red will be hurt. Again and again and again if he lets him in.

 

“Jason,” he sighs, his natural drive towards compassion taking over his need to be fiercely firm, to keep him at a distance. “I feel for what you’re going through. I know it must be really hard. But- you have so much to unpack about who you are and what it means, and how you want to tell people, and how awfully some of them are going to treat you when they know. It’s a lot. And I know you. I know you’re going to struggle with all those things, and you’re going to get angry, and scared, and have a million doubts. And I just can’t be this close to it.  Because I’ve got feelings too, Jace, and they’re being damaged while you deal with yours. Over and over again. I'm sorry, but I  just can’t do it.”

 

There. That was honest. It wasn’t cruel. It was just honest.

 

“But, Red-” he starts, but Red shakes his head.

 

“Listen. Maybe in a couple of weeks, I can...check in with you. You can tell me a little bit about it, about how you’re processing it all, and I can...try to help. Give you any advice I might have. But I can’t be this close to it anymore. Give me a little time, and maybe I can...help you with it. As a friend. But that’s it. That’s it,” Red says.

He shakes his head. Even offering that much is fucking foolish, he knows. He'll never get over him if he does that. He'll never get over him unless he pretends he doesn't exist. Unless he goes numb. But he can't be numb around Jason, who makes him feel a more complex whirlwind of things than anyone else in the entire fucking world. 

 

“Red,” Jason says again, and Red knows he’s planning to protest, but he can’t listen to it. He’s made his decision.

 

“I put some stuff of yours in a box. I’m gonna leave it out on the porch tomorrow. You can come by and get it when you get a chance. Good luck, Jason. Really,” he says, and he gets up, beer in hand and walks away.

 

He hears Jason repeat his name again, and it’s _hard,_ it’s fucking hard not to feel, not to run back and promise that he’ll be by Jason’s side every single day helping him figure it out, guiding him through it with every bit of love in his heart, but he _can’t._

 

He walks off and he doesn’t look back.

 

He can’t.

 

He walks over to the pool table when he notices James there, shaking hands with someone he just played a game with. He need a minute anyway, so he just kinda stands nearby while they wrap up their conversation, but he can tell James notices him.

 

He works on regulating his breathing, determined to have a normal night at the bar, to have an okay time, to reestablish this place as somewhere that he can spend time without Jason Dixon.

 

“Red Welby,” James says, clicking his tongue when he finishes talking to his opponent, some guy Red doesn’t know by name who works in the hardware store. “Been a long time since you’ve moseyed over to my pool table. Looking to take me on again, are you?”

 

“If you’re up for another round,” Red says, forcing himself to smile, even though the aftermath of his conversation with Jason has him feeling lower than low.

 

“Sure thing,” James says, and Red gets himself a cue while James starts arranging the balls on the table.

 

“Though one has to ask, given the long absence, why you suddenly seem to have time for your old pal James?” James says airly. “Trouble in paradise?”

 

“What?” Red asks dully.

 

“You and your buddy Dixon. He’s here tonight. Yet you’re over _here._ Makes me wonder if maybe there’s a little trouble in paradise, is all,” James says, eyes twinkling.  

 

Yeah, Red probably should have seen this coming, should have known James wouldn’t just pretend like Red hadn’t spent the last several months hanging out here with Jason and now he’s suddenly not. He should have known there would be questions but he’s not prepared to talk about it.

 

He just shakes his head and shrugs. “Dunno what it was, but it was never fucking paradise.”

 

And it wasn’t. It was a fucked up trainwreck, from start to finish. All that hatred, the relentless bullying on Jason’s part, since their school days. Red never really had room in his heart for hatred, but Jason’s callous, intentional cruelty definitely brought him about as close to it as he’s ever gotten. And then all the insanity with those fucking billboards, and the _window._ Jason calling him a faggot, even after they’d become friends. Jason leaving. Just leaving, leaving without a thought for how Red would feel to find him gone.

 

None of it was fucking paradise.

 

 _But there were other times,_ a nagging voice says. _Other times that were pretty damn close._ Laughing into the necks of their beers. Jason’s head lolling over onto Red's neck when he’d fall asleep watching TV, his breath warm against it as he softly snored. Kissing Jason’s neck in a cabin that smelled of pine, biting it and making him groan and twist beneath him...

 

“Well, it definitely seemed to be from the outside looking in,” James says, eyebrows raised. “The two of you spending every other night here, giggling with your heads together like a couple of schoolgirls, staggering out side-by-side, headed for _your_ place…”

 

James is clearly implying a lot but Red shakes his head. “It didn’t mean anything like that,” Red says, because it really didn’t. All along, it really didn’t. Until it did.

 

“Maybe not at first,” James prods. “But I’m getting a sense maybe there’s been a shift in the dynamic lately? I mean, I always did kinda wonder if Dixon's whole hate-the-gays thing was a bit much, if maybe it was really about some kinda internalized, subconscious-”

 

“Look man,” Red says, irritated, but trying hard not to be rude. “I just- really don’t wanna talk about it. Can we just play pool? Please.”  

 

“Yeah, sure. Sorry,” James says, clearly realizing how upset Red is getting and letting it go. He looks at him sympathetically, pats Red on the back and then grins, clearly wanting to lighten to the mood. “You’re just lucky I’m not the type to get all sniffy about being cast aside and then picked back up again when things went south, like some kinda consolation prize.”  

 

He can tell James is joking, but it suddenly hits him how accurate the words are, and he feels a wave of guilt. “Oh, James, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to....you’re right, that’s really uncool of me to-”

 

James laughs and slaps him on the back. “I’m only teasin’ you, kid. Let’s play.”

 

So they do.

 

They play a round, then take a break at a table with a few more beers, catching up (which is a challenge on his part, when the goal is not to talk about Jason, and Jason has been his _life_ all these months). James fills him in on his latest foray into online dating, on a woman he’s trying to gear himself up to meet, a librarian in her early forties who lives a half hour away. A while later, the pool table opens up again and they start another game.

 

Red’s focused on lining up a shot when James comes over, puts a hand on his arm and mutters, “Uh, kid. You might wanna....look over there for a second. Something you’ll wanna see.”

 

“Huh?” he says, and glances in the direction James is pointing. When his eyes find what James was referring to, his stomach _plummets._

 

It’s Jason.

 

Walking onto the _stage._ The stage where drunk bachelorette party attendees have been monopolizing the karaoke mic for the last hour, belting out the greatest hits of Adele, Pink and Ke$ha.

 

“What the fuck?” he gasps, eyes wide, looking helplessly at James. “ _What’s he doing_?”

 

“If I had to guess, I’d go with getting ready to sing some fucking karaoke,” James says, clearly a bit amused, but Red’s face is boiling and he feels hot panic rising up inside him and he wonders how many shots are coursing through Jason’s body right now, or if he just ordered a fucking bottle of something seriously potent, because he has to be fucking trashed to be making this choice right now.

 

 _Not good, not good, not good,_ he thinks, panicked at he watches Jason smoothing out his black button down shirt. He watches in open-mouthed horror as Jason quietly talks to the host for a moment, mic in his hand, but when she walks away, Jason brings it to his mouth and addresses the crowd.

 

“Uh, hey, y’all. Jason Dixon here,” he says like everyone in the town doesn’t know exactly who he fucking is.  “Don’t suppose any of you have ever seen me up here earlier than three in the morning after I’ve had an ungodly amount of tequila in me, and I suppose I oughtta apologize for that, if you were unfortunate enough to see it. But uh. Anyway. Here I am now, a lot earlier than usual. ‘Cause I got a song that needs singing for a person who needs to hear it.”

 

 _Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God._ The panic is setting off fireworks inside Red’s brain. He feels like a trapped, caged animal. He wants to turn around and flee, to throw himself through the front window and just run.

 

A few bridesmaids whoop loudly at Jason, clapping, and Red turns to James.

 

“Fuck. James. What do I do?  _What do I do?_ ”

 

He's really fucking upset that melting into the floor is not an option. 

 

James looks as at a loss as Red does, though his confusion is less horrified and a lot more intrigued.

 

“I might suggest trying to shut it down, before it gets...anymore cringingly embarrassing for everyone involved," James says, wincing slightly. "Although I will admit, a part of me would very much like to see how this plays out.”

 

Red does want to stop this. To charge through the crowd like a bull and tackle Jason to the ground before he can make fools out of them both.

 

“But...If I go charging over there, everyone’s gonna know it’s about- I mean, they’re probably gonna think it’s... about _me_ ,” Red mutters helplessly.  

 

To his surprise, James lets out a huge guffaw of laughter at that and slaps him on the back. “Oh man. Oh, Red. Hate to break it to you like this, but I got news for you, kid. Everyone is gonna know it’s about you whether you go over there or not. Seems to me you oughtta hustle,” he says, giving Red a bit of a shove.

 

Mutely, face burning so fucking hot, Red nods and starts to speed walk his way over there, navigating through the crowd, but it’s too late, it’s too fucking late because as he weaves around a couple of people who’ve turned around to watch, the music starts and he hears Jason _belt out,_

 

“ _I know you wanna leave me, but refuse to let you go! If I have to beg and plead for your sympathy, I don’t mind ‘cause you mean that much to me!”_

 

As soon as he hears the first line, Red slaps his hand over his mouth because Jesus Christ, Jason’s doing the fucking TEMPTATIONS? _Ain’t Too Proud to Beg?_

 

There’s just….there’s not an ounce of subtlety to it, no wiggle room at all, no way to talk their way out of this when people ask what the fuck that was all about, Jason’s fucking exposed now and he’s going to die tomorrow in the sober light of day when he realizes he just fucking outed himself in front of the entire town-

 

He reaches the stage as Jason reaches the chorus, and _fuck_ , he actually sounds _good,_ which is not surprising because Red’s always loved his voice, and _fuck,_ Jason is really working the stage, exuding confidence, he’s _performing_ and those drunk bridesmaids are shrieking encouragement as he sings out, " _Ain’t too proud to beg, sweet darlin’, please don’t leave me, don’t you go! Ain't too proud to plead-_

 

“Jason!” he hisses, standing in front of the stage, feeling wretchedly exposed, more embarrassed than he’s even been at any point in his entire life. It’s too fucking late now, really, but maybe if he can talk him down, he can preserve an ounce of dignity for each of them.

 

Jason glances at him, but continues the chorus, showing no signs of slowing his performance.

 

Red glances around in panic. While for the last hour the crowd has been essentially ignoring the drunken wailing of the bachelorette party karaoke girls and doing their own thing, they are clearly now all riveted and silent, except for the drunk girls cheering Jason on.

 

“Jason!” he says more loudly. “ _What the fuck are you doing_?”  

 

Jason stops singing then, as the second verse comes up, but says directly into the mic, “Uh, I’m singing a song, Red. I thought you was supposed to be the smart one,” he says, throwing him a _wink_ before getting back into his song. “ _If I have to cry to keep you, I don’t mind weepin’ if it’ll keep you by my side! Ain’t too proud to-”_

 

“Just- _stop_ , would you?” Red demands, the humiliation and horror so overpowering he feels like he might just pass out. Maybe that might not be a bad idea. Maybe it would get Jason to hear him. “ _Get down here_.”

 

“Don’t think I will. Been waiting a while now for my turn. Be a shame to just up and quit. _Ain’t too proud to plead, baby, baby,”_ Jason starts, but maybe he finally sees the deep unhappiness on Red’s face, because his own face falls a bit then, and he drops the mic to his side, leans down a bit and talks directly to Red, though it’s quiet enough in the bar now that those closest to them can probably still hear.

 

“Don’t you see what I’m tryna do, Red?” he asks softly. “I’m tryna _show_ you. I don’t care what they think. I know you’re afraid I do, that I’m not gonna be able to handle the judgment. You’re afraid I won’t be able to handle it, that I’ll run again and you’ll get hurt but I _won’t_. I'm done runnin' and I'm done hidin'. I don’t care what any one of these assholes think. Not no more. I only care what you think.”

 

Red’s heart it hammering in his chest, beating against it like a caged beast, but he shakes his head, painfully aware of the dozens of people staring at them. “Right now, I think you’re a drunken fucking idiot who is going to regret this tomorrow as much as you regretted the other night.”

 

“I’m definitely an idiot, I’ll give you that,” Jason says. “But I ain’t drunk. Ain’t had a drop of anything but club soda all night.” He puts the mic to his mouth again and calls out to the bar. “Ain’t that true, Darlene? Ain’t had a drop of anything but club soda all night?”

 

Darlene, who had been looking on in as much shock as anyone else seems momentarily surprised by being addressed, but she quickly nods, her mouth hanging open a bit. “Uh, yeah, Jason. That’s right,” she calls out.

 

“See!” Jason says, turning back to Red. “No booze. Just me, man, doing anything I can to prove to you how much I need you. There’s no going back from this, right?” He says, giving the mic in his hand a quick shake. “No more hiding. Is that enough? Please, man. Tell me it’s enough.”

 

Red shuts his eyes tight. It’s hard. It’s so fucking hard to look at the raw vulnerability on display here, at Jason standing there on a fucking stage, mic in hand, bearing his fucking heart in front of everyone, cut off in the middle of a song about love and desperation.

 

It’s hard to look at it and not feel _everything._  

 

But he’s uncomfortable. He’s so uncomfortable. The music is still playing but Jason’s no longer singing along and everyone is just staring at them and it’s fucking awkward and he can’t think, and he wants to be fucking mad and numb still, but how do you stay numb when someone’s just stood on a stage fucking serenading you like the hero of a goddamn romance movie?

 

“Jason, I- I don’t want to do this here. I- can we go? Can we just- step outside for a minute?” he asks, face burning hot.

 

“Yeah man,” Jason says quietly, nodding. “Of course. Whatever you want.”

 

Jason jumps off the stage, setting the mic down on it, and Red turns around and starts walking for the door, and he can hear people murmuring, but he looks at his feet so he doesn’t have to see any of them, and Jason is walking beside him, and a drunk girl from the bachelorette party is shouting, “ _You best take that boy back, honey, or I’m gonna swoop right in there and snatch him up_ ,” and her friends are giggling and finally, finally, they’re bursting out into the cool fall night and it’s quiet, and Red feels like maybe he can breathe again.

 

He makes his way over to the porch railing, turns around to lean against it, to look at Jason who is right behind him.

 

He looks at him quietly, and Jason looks back. The silence between them is heavy, but he doesn’t know where the fuck to even start.

 

“Are you okay?” Jason asks quietly.

 

Red can only shake his head. Not really. His brain is buzzing. What the fuck just happened? Did that really fucking happen?

 

“You’re _insane_ ,” is all he can say.

 

“Yeah. Probably a bit,” Jason agrees, and Red almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. The night air is brisk, but his face is still burning hot. He can see a few faces in the window, peering out at them, but he does his best to ignore them.

 

“You really just... _did_ that," he mutters. "In front of everyone. I mean- do you- do you _realize_ what you just did, Jason?”

 

And he’s sober. He says he’s sober. He looks and sounds sober. It’s _insane_.

 

“Yeah, Red,” he says seriously, nodding his head. “I do.”

 

“ _Why?”_ Red asks, still fucking flabbergasted. Nothing in the farthest depths of his imagination could have predicted _this_ as the outcome of him trying to cut Jason off. “What were you thinking?”

 

He’s just dumbfounded.

 

Jason shrugs, “I already told you. I know you’re scared Red. I know what you’re scared of. I know my dumbass decisions have _made_ you scared. And I'm sorry and I’m just trying to prove to you, that you don’t have to be scared! Not anymore. I’ll admit it. Fear did take over, just for a bit. But I know now what scares me more than anything else, Red. _You_. Not having you. Not being with you. I’m not afraid of them. I’m not afraid of anyone else, or what they think. I can face it all. I can take it all. But I can’t take not being with you. I can’t even- I don’t want to remember life before you. Please.”

 

Red feels fucking weak in the knees.

 

“Jason, I don’t...I’m not…” he stammers.

He’s spent a week ignoring his messages and constructing rock solid arguments in his head about why they need to be done forever. But he can’t seem to string any of those words together, with Jason saying these things he’s saying.

 

“Red, please. I’m ready. I’m so ready. I can’t believe I’ve lived so much of a life without feeling _that._ I spent so many fucking years never feeling right or complete, always thinking maybe I was just _broken_ or something, but I’m not. I know I’m not. What I felt with you that night. Nothing’s ever felt that right. You and me, we just _fit together_ like nothing ever has and I wanna feel like that all the time, Red. Whatever the trade off is, it’s worth it. It's worth it if I can be with you,” Jason says, and he reaches for Red’s wrist, and he’s scared, he’s so fucking scared, but this time Red doesn’t have it in him to wrench his hand away, he just leaves it there, let’s Jason wrap his hand around his wrist and run a calloused thumb down his open palm, once, twice, three times.

 

Red closes his eyes, overwhelmed by that simple sensation, overwhelmed by all the emotions flashing through his mind, manifesting as a pounding heart, a twisting belly, staggered breath and all the hairs on his neck and arms standing up.

 

“Jason, I’m...I’m not sure you realize how hard this is going to be. What you’ve just...brought upon yourself. What happens when people start talking shit, getting in your face, trying to piss you off? What about your job, man? You know you can’t react, right? You react, you let yourself get pissed off and throw a punch and you’re gonna lose your fucking job-” he says, finally opening his eyes to look at Jason, to see what he thinks about that. He wants to be a detective so bad.

 

“Of course I know they’re gonna give me shit. I don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ ignore it, Red. I’m not angry no more. I’m not angry like I used to be. I’m learning to let go of all that. I can take it. I can take whatever it is they have to say. Don’t worry about that,” he says quietly.

 

“Well, what about your mom, man?” Red asks, scratching at his hair with his free hand. Jason’s still got his hand around the wrist of the other one, is still gently brushing his thumb over Red’s palm, a soothing gesture. “She’s gonna find out now. What’s she gonna...how are you gonna deal with that?”

 

Jason smiles a soft smile, shrugs at him, “She’s gonna just have to...accept it, I guess. To be honest, I think she prob’ly already knows. She’s made enough comments over the years. And definitely, y’know, since we started...hanging out. Think she already knows. Maybe knew before I did. And she might not like it much, but she loves me, and I’m all she’s got. So she...she’ll come around. Eventually.”

 

Red lets out a shaky sigh. He still just can’t believe it. Any of it.

 

Jason, perhaps encouraged by the fact that even though Red still hasn’t pulled his hand away, steps a little closer.

 

Red bites his lip, looks down, not wanting to see his face, his earnest, sincere, pleading eyes, eyes that are making him weak, that are making him want to be vulnerable again, to open himself back up to that hurt.

 

“Red,” Jason says quietly, and reaches out with his free hand and tilts Red’s chin up again, running a thumb over his cheek, gazing at him soft, pleading eyes. “I know I hurt you. I know I’ve hurt you too many fucking times. You should have fucking told me to fuck off that day in the hospital, and every day since, but you didn’t. I don’t got a right to ask, but I’m still asking. I’m asking for one more shot. I finally know what it feels like to be really, perfectly happy. Please don’t take that away. Give me a chance to make you happy too, to make up for all that hurt I caused. I think that I can, if you let me.”

 

He’s still holding Red’s face in his hand, still stroking that calloused thumb softly over Red’s cheekbone, looking like he really, really wants to fucking kiss him but he’s waiting for permission.

 

And Red’s getting weak. He’s getting really fucking weak. He shakes his head, but it’s a pitiful, helpless gesture, and when it speaks, it’s not to give a firm, clear rejection, but just to incredulously say, “I can’t believe you fucking _sang._  And you sang _that_ song.”

 

“I know,” Jason says, stepping just a little closer, and is that a _grin_ on his face _?_ Why is he grinning? Does he know? Does he know that he’s made Red weak, that he’s fucking _winning_ ….? “Pretty fucking romantic, right?” Jason asks, and it _is_ a fucking grin, that smug son of a bitch.

 

Red narrows his eyes at him, shaking his head again. “Romantic? Jason, that was _the_ most humiliated I’ve been in my entire fucking life.”

 

Jason grins, “Says the guy who _wasn’t_ on the stage, stone sober, singing his heart out and coming out to the entire town in one move. Humiliation don’t even being to cover it, bud. _Still_ though. Pretty fucking romantic, right?”

 

_Fuck him._

 

Fuck his lopsided grin and his oozing charm.

The truth is, Red never in his life dreamed he’d be on the receiving end of a grand gesture like this. He’d pretty much resigned himself ages ago to always having no strings occasional things, like what he has with Alan, maybe a smattering of one night stands here and there too. He never once even dared to imagine he’d be fucking wooed in a packed bar in fucking EBBING, Missouri by someone who was once his most disliked person in the entire town.

How could anyone really expect him to resist a gesture like that? It’s just not reasonable. He'd have to be made of stone.

 

Red shakes his head a little more, but somehow it starts to evolve into a nod. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Pretty fucking romantic.”

 

And Jason seems to take that as the permission he’s been waiting for, because he practically dives at Red then, his hand looping around to the back of Red’s head to pull him in for a hard, desperate kiss.

There’s a thrill in it, a twist in the belly that comes with Jason taking the lead, being the one to start it, to take control. He steps into Red’s space as he kisses him, a hand gripping hard at his waist, pushing him right back into the railing of the porch, 'til he can’t step back any further, and then Jason's whole body is pressing into Red’s as as kisses him, and Jesus, they’re both well on their way to hard, he can _feel_ him and Jason’s tongue is in his mouth  and a hand is in his hair and Red is groaning against him, powerless to resist, just letting himself be kissed by someone hungry for him.

 

Red feels like he can’t think, can hardly breathe, because he came here tonight sure that this would never fucking happen ever again, and now it is and he can’t believe he almost denied himself the chance to feel Jason’s mouth on his like this ever again, he can’t believe it, he was so stupid and-

 

He lets out an involuntary noise of protest as Jason starts to pull back, one hand still on Red’s waist but otherwise retreating into his own space again. Jason gives a soft smile at his poorly contained disappointment, and slides a thumb over a sliver of exposed flesh where his t-shirt's ridden up, making Red shudder.

 

“So can we do this, Red?” he asks quietly, squeezing his bony hip. “Can we really just do it? Try to forget all the mistakes and the fucking stupid, terrible choices I made and just- just _be together_? I swear I’m ready. I’m ready to be the person you deserve.”

 

Red is still fucking flustered from that kiss, dizzy from it, from the hot press of Jason’s body on his and the feel of his hand on his hip right now, but he manages to nod and croak out, “Yeah. Yeah. Okay.”

 

And Jason’s entire face just lights up in pure, unfiltered joy and he steps forward and fucking hugs Red, body-to-body, cheek-to-cheek, hugs him hard with his arms wrapped tight around his back, “Thank you,” he whispers into Red’s ear as he hugs him. “Thank you.”

He presses a hard kiss to Red’s cheek, and then they're just resting, forehead to forehead, lingering there, basking in the moment. Everything's out in the open. Finally. They're on the same page. It seems like all the secrets and miscommunications and confusion might finally just be  _gone_ so it can just be them and their mutual adoration, and it's so incredible. 

 

Eventually, Jason pulls back from the hug, not a lot, just enough so they can look at each other again, and he just gazes at Red with so much warmth and affection in his eyes, and again Red can’t believe he was really going to try to shut this out, to shut out the most intense feelings he’s ever had for another person.

 

What a sad, lonely, pitiful thing his life would be if he really pushed Jason away and he listened, and stayed away, and they never did _this_ again.

 

He looks at Jason, looks at his beautiful, scarred face and tries to think of something to say, some way of articulating all that he feels, but then Jason speaks instead.

 

His other hand slides up to grip Red’s shoulder, and as he does that, Jason also looks up at him and just mutters, “God, I fucking _love_ you,” and comes in for another kiss as Red’s mouth just falls open. Red allows himself to be kissed, but he’s pretty blown away by those words he was definitely not expecting to hear, words no one has ever said to him before and _fuck_ , they’re an injection of warmth straight into his chest and he takes a moment before he can really kiss back.

 

It's just mind blowing. Jason is kissing him, just kissing him so deeply, so hungrily, and he can’t fucking believe it.

 

Eventually, they cut themselves off from that kiss too, even though they’re both achingly hard and desperate for more, and they’d both likely spill their loads in a couple of minutes if they just went for it.

 

But.... well. They are on the fucking front porch of a bar in Ebbing on a Friday night, after all, and as much as Red thinks these backwards hicks need to get with the times, he doesn’t think splattering the deck with their semen is the best way to win hearts and minds of the homophobic townsfolk.

 

“Wow,” Red murmurs, his lips a little sore from the intensity of their kissing, his breath ragged.

 

“Yeah,” Jason nods in agreement. “Yeah.”

 

“So,” Red says, glancing at him. “Where do we go from here?”

 

“Kinda of two minds about that,” Jason says, smiling. “One the one hand, the thing I want more than anything in the fucking world is to get the fuck out of here and do- do exactly what we did at the cabin. On the other hand- I dunno. I feel like maybe we oughtta walk back in there together, heads held high. Just in case anyone has any doubts. I don’t got any left, so they shouldn’t either. Anyway, I guess I don’t care which one we do. Long as we do it together,” he says, looping a finger through Red’s belt loop and tugging him closer, pressing a kiss to his jawline.

 

 _Damn._ This bastard’s got _game_ when he wants to. Red feels a pleasurable shiver go through him, grins at Jason and his newfound suave. “Oh man,” he mutters. “You wanna go back in? It’s... that’d be pretty awkward, don’t you think?”

 

Jason shrugs. “Maybe a little. But we can’t hide forever. It’s kind of our place, right? Might be best to get it over with. I kinda feel like maybe we should head in and grab a beer?”

 

“Yeah,” Red nods. “Okay.”

 

Jason grins and puts a hand on the small of his back and gently guides him back towards the door. They walk in and several dozen heads snap up, see that it’s them and then quickly avert their eyes, muttering in whispers.

 

Awkward as fuck. Red’s face is burning and he feels frozen, but Jason keeps that hand on his back and gives him a small push. A couple of the bachelorette party crew are the only ones who don’t look away, and instead let out a small cheer, one of them screaming “ _awww yeaaaah, get it boys!_ ” across the bar. 

 

Jason rolls his eyes. “Just keep walking. Look, our seats are free.”

 

They walk over to them, Jason's hand on his back the whole time and they sit down, and the people nearest make a serious effort not to look their way, except for Darlene the bartender who makes her way over once she serves a couple of bikers their drinks.

 

“Well,” she says, glancing at the both. “Looks like you two have worked it all out. Good. This one’s sad-sack attitude all week was really bringing me down. This round’s on me, fellas. What’ll it be?” 

They order a couple of Sam Adams’ and Darlene flounces away. Well. They've got the support of a half-dozen wasted girls from out of town and one bartender who he's always tipped really well. Could be worse. 

 

“Well,” Jason says, giving him a little grin. “We got it over with. Way the gossip mill works round here, by this time tomorrow, there won’t be a soul in Ebbing who doesn’t know.”

 

“And you’re really okay with that?” Red asks, incredulous.

 

“Yeah man. I can handle it. Only thing now I couldn’t handle would be being without you,” Jason says, reaching over to squeeze Red's shoulder. The words and the touch warm Red from the inside out. Jason’s just so fucking open and earnest about it, and Red can hardly cope, can hardly cope with how good it feels to have someone care about him this much, to openly and freely admit it.

 _He loves me. He said that he loves me._ That still has him reeling.

 

“You worried about what your ma’s gonna say?” Red asks quietly.

 

“Yeah. A little,” Jason admits, biting his lip.  "But it'll work itself out." Then, suddenly, he grins, hazel eyes sparkling, “But right now I’m more worried about being able to keep my hands off your dick while we’re in here with all these people.”

 

“Jason!” Red hisses, because Jason hadn’t made even a little effort to be quiet, and a severe woman in her fifties is within earshot. She turns to stare at them, looking scandalized. Furtively, Red inclines his head her way, trying to silently signal Jason to keep it down.

 

“What? Ain’t my fault if some granny decides she wants to eavesdrop,” Jason says loudly, looking directly at the lady until she turns away in disgust. Red feels his face burning but Jason appears totally unphased.

 

“Fuck. You’re gonna be one of those aggressively gay gays, aren’t you?” Red mutters, laughing a little. Of course he is. Jason Dixon doesn’t know the first fucking thing about being subtle and he's definitely lacking in self-awareness and basic human social skills.

 

“Maybe,” Jason shrugs. “But I definitely ain’t the first guy to talk dirty in a bar, so I don't know why she's getting all huffy about it. Anyway, drink faster.” He points at Red’s beer, which he’s only had a few sips, and he’s own, which is halfway gone. "I wanna get you home."

 

A moment later, Darlene comes back with two shockingly blue drinks and places them down in front of them. They both wrinkle their noses at them, perplexed.

 

“Darlene, honey, just ‘cause I’m a homo now doesn’t mean I suddenly wanna drink shit that color,” Jason says, shaking his head at the cocktails. Red laughs.

 

“They're a gift,” Darlene shrugs. “I think you can guess from who.”

 

They look across the bar to where a sash-wearing blonde with glittery purple eye shadow gives them a manicured thumbs up, winks and bounces away.

“Fuck it,” Jason grins, picking up the cocktail. “I did spend the whole night staying sober so you’d know I was sincere. Got some catching up to do and booze is booze.” He drinks half of it in one gulp, and shakes his head in disgust. “Ew. Nasty.” But he goes back for another sip.

 

Red laughs, and finishes his beer, and let’s Jason finish off both the blue drinks.

 

When they’re done, Jason glances at him and says, “Can we go now? I’m fucking dying to touch you.”

 

God, he can’t just _say_ shit like that. It has Red instantly uncomfortable in his jeans, hard and desperate for Jason to make good on those words. “Yeah,” he nods. “Yeah, let’s go.”

 

They do.

 

They walk to Red’s as fast as they can, but they have to stopp three times along the way to furiously make out up against street trees.  Eventually they make it to the front porch, and Red can’t open the front door fast enough, but Jason makes things even more difficult by opting to fucking grab a handful of Red's ass cheek and kiss his neck as he fumbles with the key, and he can barely get it into the lock.

They kiss their way through the front door, pausing for just long enough for Jason to kick the door shut behind him. There’s a lot of fumbling with belts and groping touches and teeth against skin, and they end up landing on the couch still wrapped up in each other, shirts abandoned, jeans open, starved mouths kissing frantically.

 

“Holy shit,” Red murmurs against the nape of Jason’s neck, and he hears him gasp.

 

“Yeah. I know,” Jason murmurs, cupping his cheek, kissing him slow and deep. “This is crazy. It’s fucking crazy how good it is.”

 

Red runs his hands up and down Jason’s bare chest, loving the feel of it, loving that he can touch him like this, that it’s okay, that they’ve fixed it all and he’s going to be able to do it all the fucking time now, that everyone in fucking Ebbing knows they’re together and Jason’s okay with it- Jason’s the one who _made_ them aware, in the most grandiose fashion possible.

 

“Hey,” Red says quietly, nipping at his earlobe, which his something he’s already learned drives Jason insane. “Lay back on the couch, would you?”

 

“Um,” Jason says, biting his lip. “Okay.”

 

Red's cock is really straining against his jeans, but there’s something he needs to do, something he’s always loved doing that he fucking _needs_ to do for Jason.

 

Jason does lie back, after a moment and Red works his jeans down to his ankles and throws them aside and presses his palm to where Jason’s erect cock is jutting up against the damp cotton of his boxers. Jason moans in pleasure at the touch, his hips jerking up involuntarily, and Red smiles, because _fuck,_ he really didn’t think he’d get to do this again, and Jason lost in the throes of pleasure is just such a fucking beautiful sight, his favorite fucking sight in the whole world.

 

He palms him just a little bit more, but then moves his hands to the waistband of Jason’s boxers and tugs them down, freeing him, and takes a moment to drink in the sight of him, already shining with sweat, his cock completely hard, precum glistening at the tip.

 

And then he does something else he’s dreamed about, he takes the base of Jason’s cock in his and and lowers his mouth to the tip of that cock and licks along the slit, slowly, carefully, maintaining careful eye contact the whole time. Jason’s eyes are wide and one of his hands is tearing at a cushion of the couch while another digs into Red’s shoulder, and he’s gasping for air.

 

“Oh. _Fuck._ Red. You do that and I’m done. You do that and I’m gonna be so done,” he moans, and the hand on his shoulder glides up to run through Red’s hair, to scrape against his scalp. "I can't,"

 

“Good," Red says, giving it another lick that makes Jason squirm. "I wanna see you come apart. I loved how you looked last time. I love how you look when you come. Do it again,” Red says, and he lowers his mouth again, takes just the tip in his mouth and gives it a suck, and feels a rush of pleasure that shoots straight to his own cock when Jason’s hips buck up.

“You like that?” he asks, and swirls his tongue around the mushroom head, runs it down the length of his veiny shaft and back up again, flickering it against the frenulum, and Jason goes fucking _crazy,_ letting out a flurry of moans and whines and digging his fingertips into Red’s scalp.

 

“ _Fuck,_ Red. Fuck. That’s-” he tries, but he can’t seem to finish the thought as Red continues to work his cock, hand and mouth and tongue and eyes working in tandem to make Jason lose his goddamn mind.

He just adores those sounds, he adores the way Jason’s hips jerk, the way he barely seems capable of stopping himself from thrusting up hard as he gets closer to the edge, but he’s trying, he’s trying so hard to control himself, and that’s fucking _hot._ Once in a while, Red leaves his mouth to do the work so he can spend a moment or two pumping his own aching cock, but honestly, just the sounds from Jason alone are almost enough to make him want to come.

 

 _God_ , it’s so amazing. It’s so amazing to be able to make Jason feel like this, to make him moan Red’s name like that. He’s always prided himself on being able to give a pretty fucking good blow job, but no one’s ever managed to make him feel _this_ fucking successful or appreciated. Red knows Jason won’t last long, so he works to squeeze in a number of his best moves, focusing on that eye-contact, on making Jason aware of how fucking thrilled he is to be able to do this for him, on running hands over his chest and thighs and belly, on making him feel wanted and adored, because he _is._  

 

“Red,” Jason moans, his breathing getting sporadic, his voice a groaned whisper. “I’m gonna-” he chokes out, but Red is well aware of what he’s gonna do, and when Jason comes in waves, his hips bucking as his orgasm hits hard, Red keeps doing what he’s doing and swallows every drop.

When he’s sure Jason’s done, he climbs on top of him, fiddles with his half-on half-off boxers, and leans down to kiss Jason’s neck while he gasps for air, still riding out the aftershocks of pleasure. Red moves his cock up so it's flush against Jason’s, which is still slick and wet from Red's mouth.

He thinks he'll have to finish this off on his own, Jason being inexperienced and spent, but to his surprise, even though he’s drenched and weak from what Red’s done to him, Jason reaches up and takes Red in his hand and starts to strokes him, a bit tentatively at first, but Red let's out a strangled sound that seems to encourage him, and Jason adjusts his grip, starts to figure Red out and in no time at all he’s spurting all over Jason’s belly and collapsing against him, ecstatic, and Jason looks really fucking smug to the point that it's almost annoying, but also really fucking hot.

 

The couch isn’t quite big enough for both of them to fit comfortably, but they adjust themselves as best as they can, exhausted and half-delirious, and somehow they make it work, and manage to just lie there together for a bit, recovering.

“Goddamn,” Jason murmurs after a while, his hand lazing up and down Red’s back, sometimes grazing over and cupping his ass. “How the fuck do you _do_ that?”

 

“Do what?” Red asks, moving his head so he can look at Jason, grinning at him.  

 

“That...shit with your mouth. All of it. _Fuck_ ,” he murmurs, and Red just shrugs and smiles contentedly.

 

Eventually, they migrate to Red’s room and end up in the shower together. Neither of them is quite ready to _go_ again, but there’s so much joy in just being there together, of running his hands over Jason’s body, of having someone else run that loofah over his back.

 

They dry off and fall into Red’s bed together, and Red just can’t believe it.

This whole week, he’s made himself go so numb or tried to get as close to it as possible. He’s convinced himself that he’d be fine going on forever in that numbness in order to avoid the possibility of more pain, but what fucking _bullshit_.

Any life without _this,_ without Jason’s hand on his thigh, without Jason's lips on his neck would just be fucking _empty._

 

Red puts on some soft music, and they lie there together getting sleepy, absentmindedly touching each other, occasionally talking to say something about those bachelorette girls, or to wonder what such-and-such a person might have to say about their relationship being officially out (“Guess we’re gonna have to head on over to Partridge next time we need a filling, huh?” Jason smirks against his pec at one point. Red laughs and says he hasn’t been to fat Geoffrey’s practice in years anyway, but he knows a good dentist in St. Louis.)

It feels happy and warm and safe together, but as they’re really on the cusp of sleep, Red has to ask.

 

He just has to.

 

“Jace,” he says quickly, with urgency, startling Jason who’d been real close to drifting off.

 

“Hmm?” Jason asks, moving his head to look at Red properly.

 

“You’re still gonna be here in the morning, right? You’re gonna be here when I wake up?” He hates how fucking vulnerable he sounds, but he can’t _not_ ask. He has to know.

 

He sees Jason’s face immediately twist in sorrow, in guilt, in sympathy and affection. “Of course, Red. Of course I am. I promise,” he says, kissing Red on the jaw. “I promise,” he says again, kissing the side of his mouth. “I won’t ever leave again, Not without saying goodbye.” He kisses him on the mouth then, slow and soft, fingertips caressing the side of Red's face. “I promise.”

 

“Okay,” Red says, believing it, turning on his side, and this time Jason’s the one to reach around and spoon him, and press kisses into his shoulders and neck until he falls asleep.

And in the morning, Jason’s still there, exactly where he was when Red drifted off, his soft snores hitting Red's shoulder blade as a warm puffs of air, and when Jason starts to stir as he wakes up, he pulls Red closer, hugs him tighter and starts kissing his shoulders all over again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHH!!!! So glad I was finally able to get this posted and fix that hot fucking mess Jason created. I know that must have been hard for those of you who get the strong second-hand embarrassment thing going on to read, but I couldn't resist making Jason do something big to make up for being such a shithead. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm thinking this needs a bit of a time-skippy epilogue, and of course there's now that niggling drive to tell some of this story from Jason's point of view, so you guys definitely haven't seen the last of me, but I am SOOOOOOOOOO freakin' happy you've all been able to take this crazy journey with me and I'm so grateful for all the love and support you give so freely.


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